P. H. Kritzinger and R. D. McDonald - In the Shadow of Death

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[Illustration: GENERAL P.H. KRITZINGER.

_Photo by Emberon, London._]

In the Shadow of Death

BY

GENERAL P.H. KRITZINGER

AND

MR. R.D. MCDONALD

ILLUSTRATED WITH PORTRAITS AND DIAGRAMS

PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION 1904

LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, DUKE STREET,
STAMFORD STREET, S.E., AND GREAT WINDMILL STREET, W.

Preface.

Several excellent works have already been written about the Anglo-Boer
War of the beginning of the twentieth century; but the field of
operations was so extensive, the duration of the war so long, and the
leaders, on the Boer side, were necessarily so independent of one
another in the operations that were conducted with one common aim, that
something of interest may well remain to be said. We have not here
chronicled our experiences and adventures in the form of a diary, but
have rather grouped together events and observations. We write as Boers,
frankly regretting the loss of that independence for which we took the
field; but also as those who wish to give no offence to any honourable
opponent. Our aim has been to do equal justice to both sides in the war;
to unite and reconcile, not to separate and embitter, two Christian
peoples destined to live together in one land.

"In the Shadow of Death" is a title the reader will hardly consider
inappropriate by the time he reaches the end of this little book.
Outnumbered on the battlefield, often exposed to the enemy's fire, and
one of us wounded and laid low on a bed of intense suffering, and then
charged before a Military Court with the greatest of crimes, we did not
dare to hope that we should live to write these pages.

And here let our cordial thanks be given to Advocate F.G. Gardiner for
his inestimable services in the hour of need, and for kindly submitting
to us the "papers" bearing on the trial.

P.H. KRITZINGER.

R.D. MCDONALD.

Contents.

CHAP. PAGE

PREFACE iii

I. ANTECEDENTS 1

II. DARK DAYS 5

III. ENGAGEMENTS 21

IV. IN TIGHT CORNERS 43

V. TO THE CAPE COLONY 56

VI. WOUNDED 70

VII. COURT-MARTIALLED 81

VIII. WHY WE SURRENDERED 102

IX. THE BOER AS SEEN IN THE LIGHT OF THE WAR 118

X. THE RISING IN THE CAPE COLONY 149

XI. WAR INCIDENTS 170

"In the Shadow of Death."

CHAPTER I.

ANTECEDENTS.

The child is father to the man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

_Wordsworth._

A few preliminary pages of personal history I offer to those who
followed me either in thought or deed during the Anglo-Boer War.

My ancestors were Germans; my grandfather was born in the South. About
the year 1820 he, along with two brothers, bade farewell to the land of
his nativity and emigrated to South Africa. They found a home for
themselves in the neighbourhood of Port Elizabeth, and there they
settled as farmers. Two of the brothers married women of Dutch
extraction; one died a bachelor. A small village, Humansdorp, situated
near to Port Elizabeth, was the birth-place of my father. There he spent
the greater part of his life. He, too, married a Dutch lady; and we
children adopted the language of our mother, and spoke Dutch rather than
German.

My father took an active part in several of the early Kaffir Wars, and
rendered assistance to the Colonial forces in subjugating the native
tribes in the Eastern Province of the Cape Colony. With rapt attention
and enthusiasm we children would listen to him as he told the tale of
those early native wars. I then thought that there was nothing so
sublime and glorious as war. My imagination was inflamed, and I longed
intensely to participate in such exciting adventures. My experience of
recent years has corrected my views. I think differently now. Peace is
better than war. War is brutal and damnable. It is indeed "hell let
loose."

On the 20th of April, 1870, the arrival of a little Kritzinger was
announced on the farm Wildeman's-Kraal, Port Elizabeth District. That
little fellow happened to be myself. I do not recollect much of the days
of my youth--save that I was of a very lively disposition, with a
fondness for all sorts of fun, and often of mischief, which landed me
occasionally in great trouble. My parents obeyed the injunctions of Holy
Writ in diligently applying the rod when they thought it necessary. As a
child, I could but dimly understand, and scarcely believe, that love was
at the root of every chastisement.

At the age of five I met with a serious accident. While gathering shells
on the beach at Port Elizabeth, the receding waves drew me seaward with
irresistible power. But for the pluck and courage of my little
playfellow, a lassie of some twelve summers, I was lost. She came to the
rescue. I was saved at the last moment: a few seconds more and I must
have perished in the deep.

In 1882 my parents, leaving Cape Colony in search of a new home in the
Orange Free State, settled down in the district of Ladybrand. It was,
however, decided that I should remain behind with an uncle. This uncle
was my godfather, and had promised to provide for my education. Having
no children, he made me his adopted son. However excellent these
arrangements might be, I resolved that I too should go to the Orange
Free State. I succeeded in persuading my brother, who had charge of the
waggons, to let me follow him on horseback under cover of darkness. I
left my uncle's home alone and at dusk on the third evening after my
brother's departure. How I felt, and in what condition I was, after
riding thirty-five miles on the bare back of a horse, I shall not
describe. My parents, who had gone ahead of the waggons, were not a
little astonished, and yet they were not angry, at the unexpected
appearance of the boy that was left behind.

On my arrival in the Free State it so happened that there was then a
dispute as to headship between two Barolong chiefs. This quarrel called
forth the intervention of the Free State Government. The burghers were
commandoed in the event of resistance on the part of the native chiefs;
and I, though a mere boy, at once offered my services to the nearest
Field Cornet. He declined to accept them on the score that I was too
young. Like David, I was loth to go back home. I borrowed an old gun,
got a horse, and off I stole to the Boer commando. The dispute was
amicably settled. Some thirty Barolongs, however, offered resistance.
Most eagerly I thus fired my first shot upon a human being. I did not
know then that it would not be the last; that I should live to hear the
mountains and hills of South Africa reverberate with the sound of
exploding shells, that the whizz of bullets would assail my ears like
the humming of bees; that a bullet would penetrate my own lungs, leaving
me a mass of bleeding clay on the battle-field. I did not know that
South Africa's plains would yet be drenched with the blood of Boer and
Briton until the very rivers ran crimson.

At the early age of seventeen I left the parental roof to earn for
myself an independent living. I went to the district of Rouxville, where
I occupied a farm situated on the Basutoland border. Several of the
Basuto chiefs I got to know well. They allowed me to purchase all I
desired from their subjects. Occupied thus with my private affairs while
years sped by, I unconsciously drifted on to the disastrous war.

My mind was never absorbed nor disturbed by the many political
controversies and problems of South Africa, not that I was indifferent
to the welfare of my people and country, for, once war was declared by
the leaders, my services were ready. I attached myself to the Rouxville
Commando, under Commandant J. Olivier, as a private burgher. When
Prinsloo surrendered, late in 1900, I was appointed Assistant-Commandant
over that portion of the Rouxville Commando which had refused to lay
down arms on Prinsloo's authority. This was my first commission in the
Boer Army. On more than one occasion I had been requested to accept
appointments; but, realising the great responsibility involved in
leadership, I preferred to fight as a private. But events pushed onward;
and on the 26th of August, 1900, when Commandant Olivier made an
unsuccessful attack on Winburg, which resulted in his capture, I was
elected in his stead, and so became Commandant of the Rouxville
Commando.

On December 16th, 1900, carrying out instructions of General De Wet, I
crossed the Orange River at a point near Odendaal's Stroom, with about
270 burghers. General De Wet was to follow me, but he was prevented. The
enemy, determined to drive me back or effect my capture, concentrated
numerous forces on my small commando. For months I was dreadfully
harassed, and had no rest day or night. But I was resolved neither to
retrace my steps nor to capitulate. How I escaped from time to time I
now tell. The Cape Colonist Boers began to come in, and my forces
increased rather than decreased. The burghers I had at my disposal I
subdivided into smaller commandos, to give employment to the enemy, so
that they could not concentrate all their forces on me. Thus, as the
Colonists rose in arms, the commandos began to multiply more and more,
until it was impossible for the British forces to expel the invaders
from the Cape Colony.

At the beginning of August, 1901, General French once more fixed his
attention on me. I was hard pressed by large forces, and had to fall
back on the Orange Free State, where I then operated till the 15th of
December. Again, and now for the last time, I forded the Orange River at
midnight, and set foot on British territory. The following day I was
wounded while crossing the railway line near Hanover Road. For about a
month I was laid up in the British hospital at Naauwpoort, whence I was
removed to Graaf Reinet gaol, and there I was confined as a criminal
until the 10th of March, 1902, when after a five days' trial for murder
I was acquitted. After my acquittal I was advanced to the honour (?) of
P.O.W. (Prisoner of War), and so remained till the cessation of
hostilities.

CHAPTER II.

DARK DAYS.

Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promises.

_Shakespeare._

Up to the 27th February, 1900, the Republican arms were on the whole
successful. The Boers fought well and many a brilliant victory crowned
their efforts, and encouraged them to continue their struggle for
freedom. True, they had to sacrifice many noble lives, but that was a
sacrifice they were prepared to make for their country. Fortune smiled
on them; as yet they had met with no very serious reverses.
Magersfontein, Stormberg, Colenso, Spion Kop, were so many offerings of
scarce vanquished Boers to the veiled Goddess Liberty. But towards the
end of February, 1900, clouds gathered over the Republics. The tide of
fortune was turned; disaster after disaster courted the Boer forces;
blow after blow struck them with bewildering force. Then came the news
of Cronje's capture. No sooner had we crossed the Orange River during
the retreat from Stormberg than we learnt that stunning news of the
disaster at Paardeberg on the 27th of February--the anniversary of
Amajuba. Cronje captured--the General in whom we had placed such
implicit confidence and on whom we relied for the future! Cronje
captured--the man who had successfully checked the advance of the
English forces on Kimberley at Magersfontein; the hero of many a battle;
the man who knew no fear! His men captured--the flower and pick of the
Boer forces, with all their guns, and brave Major Albrecht as well!

Many a burgher who up to that fatal day had fought hopefully and
courageously lost hope and courage then. Some, we regret to say, were
so disconsolate that they renounced their faith in that Supreme Being in
whose hands are the destinies of nations. Their reliance on their
country's God ended with Cronje's capture, as though their deliverance
depended solely upon him. This, however, does not appear so strange when
one recollects that the Boers could not afford to lose so many of their
best men at a time when all were precious for their country's safety. As
to the siege itself, we, not having been in it, cannot enter into its
details. One of the besieged, who, in spite of a terrific bombardment
and repeated attacks by the enemy, kept a diary of the events of each
day, gives this striking description on the 10th and last day:

"Bombardment heavier than usual. The burghers are recalcitrant and
in consequence the General's authority wanes rapidly. There is
hardly any food, the remaining bags of biscuits are yellow from the
lyddite fumes, so is everything, damp and yellow. The stench of the
decomposed horses and oxen is awful. The water of the rivers is
putrid with carrion. A party of men caught three stray sheep early
on the morning of the 10th. In haste they killed them and started
to skin them desperately; but they had half done when a lyddite
shell bursting close to them turned the mutton yellow with its
fumes and it had to be abandoned reluctantly. The sufferings of the
wounded are heartrending. Little children huddled together in
bomb-proof excavations are restless, hungry and crying. The women
are adding their sobs to the plaintive exhortations of the wounded.
All the time the shelling never abates. The arena of the defenders
is veneered. Nearly every man, woman and child is lyddite-stained.
The muddy stream is yellow. The night was an awful one. For two
days the men are without food, but worse still are the pestiferous
air, the loathsome water, and the suffering of the wounded. It is
too much for flesh and blood. The morning of the 27th February saw
the first white flag hoisted by a Boer general. It was a woeful
sight when 3600 Boers, undisciplined peasants, reluctantly threw
down their rifles among the wreck of the shells and ambled past the
English lines. They had withstood the onslaught of 80,000 British
troops with modern death-dealing implements of war, and, towards
the end of the siege, about 1000 guns were brought to bear upon
them."

How far this disaster can be attributed to General Cronje is difficult
to say. The following considerations may, however, throw some light on
its causes.

During the early part of the war we hardly realised the great value and
necessity of good scouting. It was only after General Cronje and his men
had fallen into the hands of the enemy that a regular scouting corps was
organised and placed under the control of the brave Danie Therou.

Lord Roberts's forces were almost on Cronje's laager before they were
perceived, and unfortunately they were even then entirely
under-estimated and consequently thought light of. Flushed by the
victory at Magersfontein, the General did not contemplate the
possibility of such a bitter reverse. He was going to strike another
hard blow at the enemy--he did strike it, but at too great a cost. Had
he realised his position the first or second day after the siege was
begun, he might still have escaped. The convoy would have been captured,
but the men would have been saved. The old gentleman was determined to
hold all, and consequently lost all.

So far the General deserves censure and is accountable for the disaster
which had such a far-reaching and bad moral effect on the rest of the
burghers. The only sweet drop contained in the bitter cup extended to us
was the fact that Cronje and his burghers surrendered _as men_, and not
as _cowards_. Once surrounded and brought to bay they resisted every
attack with admirable fortitude and valour. Surrounded along the banks
of the Modder River, at a spot where they had no cover at all, exposed
to a terrific cannonade and charged by thousands of the enemy from time
to time, these farmers fearlessly repelled every onslaught. It was one
thing to surround them, another thing to capture them. They were not to
be taken with cold hands. The enemy, especially the Canadians, had to
pay a great price before the white flag announced Cronje's unconditional
surrender.

During the siege attempts were made by General De Wet to relieve
Cronje, but none succeeded. Several of the relieving forces, including
the pick of the Winburg Commando with Commandant Theunissen, were
themselves surrounded and captured in trying to break through the lines
of the besiegers.

To intensify the gloom, Ladysmith, which was daily expected to fall, was
relieved on the day of Cronje's surrender. For certain reasons the late
Commandant-General P. Joubert had evacuated the positions round
Ladysmith and retreated to the Biggar's Range. General Louis Botha, who
was engaging Buller's relieving forces at Colenso, was then also
compelled to retreat.

After Cronje's capture the way to Bloemfontein and Pretoria lay open.
The Boers made one more stand at Abraham's Kraal, where the enemy
suffered heavily, but carried the day by their overwhelming numbers.
After the British occupied Bloemfontein the Transvaal burghers became
reluctant to offer battle in the Free State, on the ground that there
were no positions from which they could successfully check the
ever-advancing foe. Many of the Free Staters were discouraged and
hopeless; but rest renewed their strength and zeal, and they shortly
returned to the struggles.

The second disaster which befell the two Republics was the ignominious
and cowardly surrender of Prinsloo, which took place on the 1st of
August, 1900. For various reasons this surrender was more keenly felt by
the Boers than that of Cronje. The one, though he might have blundered,
nevertheless acted the part of a brave, though obstinate, man; the other
that of a coward.

Some six weeks after the occupation of Bloemfontein the British troops
resumed their northward march, and so quickly did they advance, almost
day and night, that Pretoria was soon occupied. What this rapid movement
meant, we could not quite understand. Did Lord Roberts think that the
occupation of Pretoria would terminate hostilities? The British forces
in their swift march to the Transvaal capital left Free State burghers
behind them as they advanced. These men rallied again under General De
Wet and seriously threatened the English line of communications,
capturing seven hundred of the British at Roode Wal.

Large forces under Hector MacDonald and Bruce Hamilton recrossed the
Vaal in order to crush the Free Staters. Then Prinsloo surrendered.
Having accompanied the commandos that surrendered under him, we will
relate the story of that most sad incident of the War.

On the occupation of Bethlehem by the British in the beginning of July,
1900, the Boer commandos, under General De Wet, retreated to the
Wittebergen, a mountain range to the south-east of Bethlehem, forming a
semi-circle round Fouriesburg, a small village on the Basutoland border.
This range, with its towering peaks and steep slopes, formed an
impregnable stronghold. The burghers thought that, once behind those
heaven-high mountains, with all the passes in their possession, with
abundant war supplies, and all the necessaries of life, they would
resist successfully every attack. The camps were pitched at the base of
the mountains. The burghers began at once to make turf-bulwarks for the
guns, and trenches for themselves, in the various passes.

General De Wet, who did not seem quite at ease in this enclosure or
kraal, for such it was, organised the Bethlehem-Heilbron burghers into a
commando 2500 strong and left with these in the direction of Heilbron.
General Roux from Senekal was instructed to organise another commando,
1000 or 1200 strong, and advance with that in the direction of
Bloemfontein. For some reason or other, General Roux's departure was
delayed, and so he with all his men fell into Prinsloo's meshes.

On Monday, 23rd July, the enemy made a general attack on all the Boer
positions, except Naauwpoort Pass. These attacks, though very
determined, were unsuccessful. From sunrise to sunset the firing never
ceased. The burghers in Slabberts Nek, where we happened to be, were
subjected to a dreadful cannon fire. This pass was guarded by Captain
Smith with two Krupp guns and Lieutenant Carlblom with a pom-pom. Upon
these guns the English directed two Howitzers and six Armstrongs. Here,
just before sunset, the gallant Captain Rautenbagh was blown to pieces
by a lyddite shell, which exploded in front of him.

Thus repulsed by day, the enemy succeeded in scaling the heights to the
left of the Boers at Slabberts Nek by an unguarded footpath during the
night. As soon as the crimson light of a July dawn had exposed the
frost-covered ridges, the dark overcoats on the left of the Boer
positions revealed the unwelcome fact that the enemy had gained their
object of the day before, and had outflanked the Boers.

Not only at Slabberts Nek, but also at Reliefs Nek the Boers were
outflanked the same night. At the latter pass a number of Highlanders
had occupied the rocky heights during the stillness of the night, so
that when the Boer pickets discovered them the next morning they found
the enemy commanding a position higher than their own, which they
forthwith abandoned. The enemy, now in possession of two mountain
passes, forced the Boers to evacuate all the other passes, by
threatening an attack on our rear and surrounding us. So on Tuesday
morning, at about 9 A.M., the commandos quitted the mountains and fell
back on Fouriesburg.

Our situation was becoming hourly more and more embarrassing. There was
just one thing to be done, and that was to move as quickly as possible
all along the base of the mountain range, and to seize a pass called
Naauwpoort Nek farther northwards. That pass was not yet occupied by the
enemy, and there it was possible to secure a safe exit; and higher up
the mountain range, at the farm of Salmon Raads, was another pass which
could be reached in due time.

If Prinsloo had, in his heart, desired to save his commandos, he could
have done so easily. But no sooner had we left the mountains than we
noticed that strange whispers were passed from man to man; we heard it
said that a further prolongation of the war was absolutely useless;
that many of the officers and burghers were tired of it, and would like
to go home. In short, we saw what was coming, and anticipated the
surrender.

When the commandos arrived at Naauwpoort Pass they found their exit cut
off there by the enemy. Instead of hastening on to the next pass, the
officers held a council of war to discuss the situation, or, more
correctly, to deliberate on a surrender. The meeting lasted almost all
night. Some of the officers were deadly opposed to a surrender;
others--and they were the majority--were in favour of it. Nothing,
however, was decided at that meeting, for a Hoofd Commandant had first
to be elected before any steps could be taken.

A second meeting of officers for the purpose of electing a Chief
Commandant was next held. In that meeting Prinsloo was elected Chief
Commandant, but, as not all the officers were present, some of them
being still in the positions, it was beforehand agreed that the man
elected by that meeting should have no authority before the votes of the
absent officers were taken, and when their votes came in it was found
that General Roux, and not Prinsloo, was elected.

The latter, however, entered into negotiations with the enemy before
this question as to whom was to be Chief Commandant was settled. He
first asked for an armistice, which was refused. Then he asked for
terms, to which General Hunter replied: "Unconditional surrender is
demanded." Prinsloo, well aware that the burghers would not surrender
unconditionally, pleaded and insisted on terms.

At this juncture Vilonel, the deserter, who had been sentenced for five
years' imprisonment for high treason, but who was, unfortunately,
released, appeared on the scene. He came from the British lines, met
Prinsloo, and officiated as intermediary between Generals Hunter and
Prinsloo. Something in the shape of terms was drawn up, but these terms,
if tested and analysed, amounted to unconditional surrender. As soon as
Prinsloo was in possession of these conditions, he forwarded a report to
the different commandants that he had been successful in obtaining good
terms from the English, and that they must evacuate their positions so
as to arrange for a surrender. This report was sent on to Commandant
Potgieter of Smithfield with instructions to forward it to the next
commandant.

General Roux, on learning of Prinsloo's doings, at once dispatched a
report to the different commandos notifying to them that Prinsloo had no
right to negotiate with the enemy, to ask for or accept terms for a
surrender. Also, that the burghers must on no account abandon their
positions. He, so the report ran, would personally go to protest against
the illegal surrender. The General went, but did not return. Why he went
himself, and did not send one of his adjutants with a written protest,
seems still very strange to us. He was warned not to go. General
Fourie's last words to him were: "Good-bye, General; I greet you, never
to see you again in the Boer ranks." He did not heed the warning, and so
we lost one of our bravest and best leaders.

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