Howard C. Hillegas - With the Boer Forces

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Courteous Boer officials entered the train and requested the passengers to
disembark with all their luggage, for the purpose of custom-examination.
No gratuities were accepted there, as at Lorenzo Marques, and nothing
escaped the vigilance of the bearded inspectors. Trunks and luggage were
carefully scrutinised, letters read line by line and word for word;
revolvers and ammunition promptly confiscated if not declared; and even
the clothing of the passengers was faithfully examined. Passports were
closely investigated, and, when all appeared to be thoroughly
satisfactory, a white cross was chalked on the boots of the passengers,
and they were free to proceed farther inland. The field-cornet of the
district was one of the few Boers at the station, and he performed the
duties of his office by introducing himself to certain passengers whom he
believed to be foreign volunteers, and offering them gratuitous railway
tickets to Pretoria. No effort was made to conceal the fact that the
volunteers were welcome in the country, and nothing was left undone to
make the foreigners realise that their presence was appreciated.

After Koomatipoort was passed the train crept slowly into the mountainous
district, where huge peaks pierced the clouds and gigantic boulders
overhung the tracks. Narrow defiles stretched away in all directions and
the sounds of cataracts in the Crocodile River flowing alongside the iron
path drowned the roar of the train. Flowering, vari-coloured plants, huge
cacti, and thick tropical vegetation lined the banks of the river, and
occasionally the thatched roof of a negro's hut peered out over the
undergrowth, to indicate that a few human beings chose that wild region
for their abode. Hour after hour the train crept along narrow ledges up
the mountains' sides, then dashed down declines and out upon small level
plains which, with their surrounding and towering eminences, had the
appearance of vast green bowls. In that impregnable region lay the small
town of Machadodorp, which, later, became the capital of the Transvaal. A
few houses of corrugated iron, a pretty railway-station, and much scenery,
serves as a worthy description of the town at the junction of the purposed
railway to the gold-fields of Lydenberg.

After a journey of twelve hours through the fever country the train
reached the western limit of that belt and rested for the night in a
small, green, cup-shaped valley bearing the descriptive name of Waterval
Onder--"under the waterfall." The weary passengers found more corrugated
iron buildings and the best hotel in South Africa. The host, Monsieur
Mathis, a French Boer, and his excellent establishment came as a breath of
fresh air to a stifling traveller on the desert, and long will they live
in the memories of the thousands of persons who journeyed over the
railroad during the war. After the monotonous fare of an east-coast
steamer and the mythical meals of a Lorenzo Marques hotel, the roast
venison, the fresh milk and eggs of Mathis were as welcome as the odour of
the roses that filled the valley.

The beginning of the second day's journey was characterised by a ride up
and along the sides of a magnificent gorge through which the waters of the
Crocodile River rushed from the lofty plateau of the high veld to the
wildernesses of the fever country and filled that miniature South African
Switzerland with myriads of rainbows. A long, curved, and inclined tunnel
near the top of the mountain led to the undulating plains of the
Transvaal--a marvellously rapid transition from a region filled with
nature's wildest panoramas to one that contained not even a tree or rock
or cliff to relieve the monotony of the landscape. On the one side of this
natural boundary line was an immense territory every square mile of which
contained mountain passes which a handful of Boers could hold against an
invading army; on the other side there was hardly a rock behind which a
burgher rifleman could conceal himself. Here herds of cattle and flocks of
sheep, instead of wild beasts, sped away from the roar of the train; here
there was the daub and wattle cottage of the farmer instead of the
thatched hut of the native savage.

Small towns of corrugated iron and mud-brick homes and shops appeared at
long intervals on the veld; grass-fires displayed the presence of the Boer
farmer with his herds, and the long ox-teams slowly rolling over the plain
signified that not all the peaceful pursuits of a small people at war with
a great nation had been abandoned. The coal-mines at Belfast, with their
towering stacks and clouds of smoke, gave the first evidence of the
country's wondrous underground wealth, and then farther on in the journey
came the small city of Middleburg with its slate-coloured corrugated iron
roofs in marked contrast to the green veld grass surrounding it. There
appeared armed and bandoliered Boers, prepared to join their countrymen in
the field, with wounded friends and sad-faced women to bid farewell to
them. While the train lay waiting at the station small commandos of
burghers came dashing through the dusty streets, bustled their horses into
trucks at the rear end of the passenger train, and in a few moments they
were mingling with the foreign volunteers in the coaches. Grey-haired
Boers gravely bade adieu to their wives and children, lovers embraced
their weeping sweethearts, and the train moved on toward Pretoria and the
battlefields where these men were to risk their lives for the life of
their country.

Historic ground, where Briton and Boer had fought before, came in view.
Bronkhorst Spruit, where a British commander led more than one hundred of
his men to death in 1880, lay to the left of the road in a little wooded
ravine. Farther on toward Pretoria appeared rocky kopjes, where afterwards
the Boers, retreating from the capital city, gathered their disheartened
forces, and resisted the advance of the enemy. Eerste Fabriken was a
hamlet hardly large enough to make an impression upon the memory, but it
marked a battlefield where the burghers fought desperately. Children were
then gathering peaches from the trees, whose roots drank the blood of
heroes months afterwards. Several miles farther on were the hills on the
outskirts of Pretoria, where, in the war of 1881, the Boer laagers sent
forth men to encompass the city and to prevent the British besieged in it
from escaping. It was ground hallowed in Boer history since the early
voortrekkers crossed the ridges of the Magaliesberg and sought protection
from the savage hordes of Moselekatse in the fertile valley of the Aapjes
River.

Pretoria in war-time was most peaceful. In the days before the
commencement of hostilities it was a city of peace as contrasted with the
metropolis, Johannesburg, and its warring citizens, but when cannon were
roaring on the frontier, Pretoria itself seemed to escape even the echoes.
After the first commandos had departed the city streets were deserted, and
only women and children gathered at the bulletin boards to learn the fate
of the burgher armies. The stoeps of houses and cottages were deserted of
the bearded yeomanry, and the halls of the Government buildings resounded
only with the tread of those who were not old or strong enough to bear
arms. The long ox-waggons which in former times were so common in the
streets were not so frequently to be seen, but whenever one of them rolled
toward the market square, it was a Boer woman who cracked the raw-hide
whip over the heads of the oxen. Pretoria was the same quaint city as of
old, but it lacked the men who were its most distinguishing feature. The
black-garbed Volksraad members, the officials, and the old retired
farmers, who were wont to discuss politics on the stoeps of the capitol
and the Transvaal Hotel were absent. Inquiries concerning them could be
addressed only to women and children, and the replies invariably were:
"They are on commando," or, "They were killed in battle."

The scenes of activity in the city were few in number, and they were
chiefly in connection with the arrival of foreign volunteers and the
transit of burgher commandos on the way to the field. The Grand Hotel and
the Transvaal Hotel, the latter of which was conducted by the Government
for the temporary entertainment of the volunteers, were constantly filled
with throngs of foreigners, comprising soldiers of fortune, Red Cross
delegations, visitors, correspondents, and contractors, and almost every
language except that of the Boers could be heard in the corridors.
Occasionally a Boer burgher on leave of absence from the front appeared at
the hotels for a respite from army rations, or to attend the funeral of a
comrade in arms, but the foreigners were always predominant. Across the
street, in the War Department, there were busy scenes when the volunteers
applied for their equipments, and frequently there were stormy actions
when the European tastes of the men were offended by the equipment offered
by the Department officials. Men who desired swords and artistic
paraphernalia for themselves and their horses felt slighted when the scant
but serviceable equipment of a Boer burgher was offered to them, but
sulking could not remedy the matter, and usually they were content to
accept whatever was given to them. Former officers in European armies,
noblemen and even professional men were constantly arriving in the city,
and all seemed to be of the same opinion that commissions in the Boer army
could be had for the asking. Some of these had their minds disabused with
good grace, and went to the field as common burghers; others sulked for
several weeks, but finally joined a commando, and a few returned to their
homes without having heard the report of a gun. For those who chose to
remain behind and enjoy the peacefulness of Pretoria, there was always
enough of novelty and excitement among the foreigners to compensate partly
for missing the events in the field.

The army contractors make their presence felt in all countries which are
engaged in war, and Pretoria was filled with them. They were in the
railway trains running to and from Lorenzo Marques; in the hotel
corridors, in all the Government departments, and everywhere in the city.
A few of the naturalised Boers, who were most denunciatory of the British
before the war and urged their fellow-countrymen to resort to arms,
succeeded in evading the call to the field and were most energetic in
supplying bread and supplies to the Government. Nor was their patriotism
dimmed by many reverses of the army, and they selfishly demanded that the
war should be continued indefinitely. Europeans and Americans who partook
of the protection of the Government in times of peace, were transformed by
war into grasping, insinuating contractors who revelled in the country's
misfortune. Englishmen, unworthy of the name, enriched themselves by
furnishing sinews of war to their country's enemy, and in order to secure
greater wealth sought to prolong the war by cheering disheartened Boers
and expressing faith in their final success. The chambers of the
Government building were filled with men who had horses, waggons, flour,
forage and clothing to offer at exorbitant prices, and in thousands of
instances the embarrassed Government was obliged to pay whatever sums were
demanded. Hand-in-hand with the contractors were the speculators who were
taking advantage of the absence of the leading officials to secure
valuable concessions, mining claims, and even gold mines. Before the war,
when hordes of speculators and concession-seekers thronged the city, the
scene was pathetic enough, but when all shrewd Raad members were at the
front and unable to guard their country's interests the picture was dark
and pitiful.

Pretoria seemed to have but one mood during the war. It was never deeply
despondent nor gay. There was a sort of funereal atmosphere throughout the
city, whether its residents were rejoicing over a Spion Kop or suffering
from the dejection of a Paardeberg. It was the same grim throng of old
men, women, and children who watched the processions of prisoners of war
and attended the funerals at the quaint little Dutch church in the centre
of the city. The finest victories of the army never changed the appearance
of the city nor the mood of its inhabitants. There were no parades nor
shouting when a victory was announced, and there was the same stoical
indifference when the news of a bitter defeat was received. A victory was
celebrated in the Dutch church by the singing of psalms, and a defeat by
the offering of prayers for the success of the army.

The thousands of British subjects who were allowed to remain in the
Transvaal, being of a less phlegmatic race, were not so calm when a
victory of their nation's army was announced, and when the news of
Cronje's surrender reached them they celebrated the event with almost as
much gusto as if they had not been in the enemy's country. A fancy dress
ball was held in Johannesburg in honour of the event, and a champagne
dinner was given within a few yards of the Government buildings in
Pretoria, but a few days later all the celebrants were transported across
the border by order of the Government.

One of the pathetic features of Pretoria was the Boers' expression of
faith in foreign mediation or intervention. At the outset of hostilities
it seemed unreasonable that any European nation or America would risk a
war with Great Britain for the purpose of assisting the Boers, yet there
was hardly one burgher who did not cling steadfastly to the opinion that
the war would be ended in such a manner. The idea had evidently been
rooted in their mind that Russia would take advantage of Great Britain's
entanglement in South Africa to occupy Herat and Northern India, and when
a newspaper item to that effect appeared it was gravely presumed to
indicate the beginning of the end. Some over-zealous Irishmen assured the
Boers that, in the event of a South African war, their fellow-countrymen
in the United States would invade Canada and involve Great Britain in an
imbroglio over the Atlantic in order to save British America. For a few
weeks the chimera buoyed up the Boers, but when nothing more than an
occasional newspaper rumour was heard concerning it the rising in Ashanti
was then looked upon as being the hoped-for boon. The departure of the
three delegates to Europe and America was an encouraging sign to them, and
it was firmly believed that they would be able to induce France, Russia,
or America to offer mediation or intervention. The two Boer newspapers,
the Pretoria _Volksstem_ and the Johannesburg _Standard and Diggers'
News_, dwelt at length upon every favourable token of foreign assistance,
however trifling, and attempted to strengthen hopes which at hardly any
time seemed capable of realisation. It was not until after the war had
been in progress for more than six months that the Boers saw the futility
of placing faith in foreign aid, and afterwards they fought like stronger
men.

The consuls who represented the foreign Governments at Pretoria, and
through whom the Boers made representations for peace, were an
exceptionally able body of men, and their duties were as varied as they
were arduous. The French and German consuls were busied with the care of
the vast mining interests of their countrymen, besides the partial
guardianship of the hundreds of French and German volunteers in the Boer
army. They were called upon to entertain noblemen as well as bankrupts; to
bandage wounds and to bury the dead; to find lost relatives and to care
for widows and orphans. In times of peace the duties of a consul in
Pretoria were not light, but during hostilities they were tenfold heavier.
To the American consul, Adelbert S. Hay, and his associate, John G.
Coolidge, fell more work than to all the others combined. Besides caring
for the American interests in the country, Consul Hay was charged with the
guardianship of the six thousand British prisoners of war in the city as
well as with the care of the financial interests of British citizens.
Every one of the thousands of letters to and from the prisoners was
examined in the American Consulate so that they might carry with them no
breach of neutrality; almost twenty thousand pounds, as well as tons of
luxuries, were distributed by him to the prisoners; while the letters and
cablegrams concerning the health and whereabouts of soldiers which reached
him every week were far in excess of the number of communications which
arrived at the Consulate in a year of peaceful times. Consul Hay was in
good favour with the Boer Government notwithstanding his earnest efforts
to perform his duties with regard to the British prisoners and interests,
and of the many consuls who have represented the United States in South
Africa none performed his duties more intelligently or with more credit to
his country.

One of the most interesting and important events in Pretoria before the
British occupation of the city was the meeting of the Volksraads on May
7th. It was a gathering of the warriors who survived the war which they
themselves had brought about seven months before, and, although the enemy
to whom they had thrown down the gauntlet was at their gates, they were as
resolute and determined as on that October day when they voted to pit the
Boer farmer against the British lion. The seats of many of those who took
part in that memorable meeting were filled with palms and evergreens to
mark the patriots' deaths, but the vierkleur and the cause remained to
spur the living. Generals, commandants, and burghers, no longer in the
grimy costumes of the battlefield, but in the black garb of the
legislator, filled the circles of chairs; bandoliered burghers, consuls
and military attaches in spectacular uniform, business men, and women with
tear-stained cheeks filled the auditorium; while on the official benches
were the heads of departments and the Executive Council, State Secretary
Reitz and General Schalk Burger. The Chairman of the Raad, General Lucas
Meyer, fresh from the battlefield, attracted the attention of the throng
by announcing the arrival of the President. Spectators, Raad members,
officials, all rose to their feet, and Paul Kruger, the Lion of
Rustenberg, the Afrikander captain, entered the Chamber and occupied a
seat of honour.

[Illustration: GENERAL LUCAS J. MEYER]

Grave affairs occupied the attention of the country and there were many
pressing matters to be adjusted, was the burden of the meeting, but the
most important work was the defence of the country, and all the members
were as a unit that their proper places were to be found with the burghers
in the field. There was no talk of ending the war, or of surrender; the
President leading in the proposition to continue hostilities until a
conclusion successful to the Boer cause was attained. "Shall we lose
courage?" he demanded. "Never! Never!! Never!!!" and then added
reverently: "May the people and the officers, animated and inspired by a
Higher Power, realising their duty, not only to those brave ones who have
already sacrificed their lives for their Fatherland, but also to posterity
that expects a free country, continue and persevere in this war to the
end." With these words of their aged chieftain engraved on their hearts to
strengthen their resolution the members of the Volksraads doffed the garb
of legislators and returned to their commandos to inspire them with new
zeal and determination.

After that memorable meeting of the Volksraads Pretoria again assumed the
appearance of a city of peace, but the rapid approach of the forces of the
enemy soon transformed it into a scene of desperation and panic. Men with
drawn faces dashed through the city to assist their hard-pressed
countrymen in the field; tearful women with children on their arms filled
the churches with their moans and prayers; deserters fleeing homeward
exaggerated fresh disasters and increased the tension of the
populace--tears and terror prevailed almost everywhere. Railway stations
were filled with throngs intent on escaping from the coming disaster,
commandos of breathless and blood-stained burghers entered the city, and
soon the voice of the conquerors' cannon reverberated among the hills and
valleys of the capital. Above the noise and din of the threatened city
rose the calm assurance of Paul Kruger: "Have good cheer, God will be with
our people in the end."

CHAPTER II

FROM FARM TO BATTLEFIELD

In the olden days, before men with strange languages and customs entered
their country and disturbed the serenity of their life, the Boers were
accustomed to make annual trips to the north in search of game, and to
exterminate the lions which periodically attacked their flocks and herds.
It was customary for relatives to form parties, and these trekked with
their long ox-waggons far into the northern Transvaal, and oftentimes into
the wilderness beyond the Zambesi. Women and children accompanied the
expeditions and remained behind in the ox-waggons while the men rode away
into the bush to search for buck, giraffe, and lion. Hardy men and women
these were who braved the dangers of wild beasts and the terrors of the
fever country, yet these treks to the north were as certain annual
functions as the Nachtmaals in the churches. Men who went into the wild
bush to hunt for the lions, which had been their only unconquerable enemy
for years, learned to know no fear, and with their wives and children
formed as hardy a race as virgin soil ever produced. With these pioneers
it was not a matter of great pride to have shot a lion, but it was
considered a disgrace to have missed one. To husband their sparse supplies
of ammunition was their chief object, and to waste a shot by missing the
target was to become the subject of good-natured derision and ridicule.
Fathers, sons, and grandsons entered the bush together, and when there was
a lion or other wild beast to be stalked the amateur hunter was initiated
into the mysteries of backwoodsmanship by his experienced elders.
Consequently the Boers became a nation of proficient lion-hunters, and
efficiently ridded their country of the pest which continually threatened
their safety, the safety of their families and that of their possessions
of live-stock.

In later years, when the foreigner who bought his farms and searched for
the wealth hidden on them became so numerous that the Boer appeared to be
an unwelcome guest in his own house, the old-time lion-hunter had
foundation for believing that a new enemy had suddenly arisen. The Boer
attempted to placate the new enemy by means which failed. Afterward a bold
but unsuccessful inroad was made into the country for the purpose of
relieving him of the necessity of ruling it. Thereupon the old-time
lion-fighting spirit arose within the Boer, and he began to prepare for
future hunting expeditions. He stocked his arsenals with the best guns and
ammunition the world produced, and he secured instructors to teach him the
most modern and approved methods of fighting the new-style lion. He
erected forts and stockades in which he might take refuge in the event
that the lions should prove too strong and numerous, and he made laws and
regulations so that there might be no delay when the proper moment arrived
for attacking the enemy. While these matters were being perfected further
efforts were made to conciliate the enemy, but they proved futile, and it
became evident that the farmer and the lion of 1899 were as implacable
enemies as the farmer and lion of 1850. The lion of 1899 believed his
cause to be as just as did the lion of half a century before, while the
farmer felt that the lion, having been created by Nature, had a just claim
upon Nature and her works for support, but desired that sustenance should
be sought from other parts of Nature's stores. He insisted, moreover, if
the lion wished to remain on the plantation that he should not question
the farmer's ownership nor assume that the lion was an animal of a higher
and finer grade than the farmer.

A meeting between the representatives of the lions and the farmers led to
no better understanding; in fact when, several days afterward, all the
farmers gathered at the historic Paardekraal monument, they were
unanimously of the opinion that the lion should be driven out of the
country, or at least subdued to such an extent that peace might come and
remain. Not since the days of 1877, when, at the same spot, each Boer,
holding a stone above his head, vowed to shed his last drop of blood in
defence of his country, was the community of farmers so indignant and
excited. The aged President himself, fresh from the conference with the
lions, urged his countrymen to prevent a conflict but to fight valiantly
for their independence and rights if the necessity arose. Piet Joubert,
who bore marks of a former conflict with the enemy, wept as he narrated
the efforts which had been made to pacify the lions, and finally expressed
the belief that every farmer in the country would yield his life's blood
rather than surrender the rights for which their fathers had bled and
died. When other leaders had spoken, the picturesque custom of renewing
the oath of fealty to the country's flag was observed, as it had been
every fifth year since the days of Majuba Hill. Ten thousand farmers
uncovered their heads, raised their eyes toward the sky and repeated the
Boer oath:--

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