ON LINES OF COMMUNICATION AT IRENE, KALFONTEIN, ZURFONTEIN, AND SPRINGS—THE PRETORIA PAPER-CHASE
That march through Pretoria, marked by none of the pomp and pageantry which imagination conjures up as essential features of a great triumph, must have seemed a lame and impotent conclusion to the stirring drama of real life in which Lumsden’s Horse had played their manful part, cheered always by the prospect of a glorious reward for all their struggles, hardships, and sacrifices in the final downfall of Boer power when the Transvaal capital should be in our hands. They were not the only people who entertained such sanguine hopes and felt proportionally disappointed at the inadequate realisation. For nearly every soldier at that time in South Africa, from Lord Roberts downwards, Pretoria had been the goal, and its conquest the climax beyond which no operations of serious importance could possibly be called for. Few people, if any, realised then how little value Boers attach to great towns as strategical bases. With the capture of Johannesburg and Pretoria we had theoretically all their arsenals and main lines of communication in our hands, and according to all hard-and-fast rules of warfare the campaign should have ended then. That impression was certainly strong on the Commander-in-Chief’s mind shortly before dusk of June 4, when Colonel De Lisle, whose Mounted Infantry had followed the enemy to within 2,000 yards of Pretoria, sent an officer under a flag of truce to demand the surrender of the town. The end might possibly have come then, if, instead of waiting five hours for a reply to that summons and seven hours longer for the unconditional surrender which Lord Roberts insisted upon when Commandant-General Botha’s tardy message reached him, we had risked everything in a night attack on the town. But at dawn the next morning Botha sent a simple message to say that he was not prepared to defend Pretoria further, and therefore he entrusted the women, children, and property to his enemy’s protection. In other words, we were quite at liberty to march into a town from which every fighting commando, all treasure, and nearly every munition of war had by that time been safely removed. One big gun was still in the station on a train that waited to take British prisoners away, but they had risen in mutiny at the last moment and refused to go, wherefore the train went without them, its movements being hastened by the sight of British troops coming over the hills. To Colonel Henry’s Mounted Infantry, of which Lumsden’s Horse formed a part, was given the honour of being first to enter Pretoria by the Rustenburg Road, as the Guards Brigade of General Pole-Carew’s division marched in on another side, without firing a shot. So the goal was reached; but we found it to all intents and purposes a hollow triumph. There had been no surrender of the Boer army or of anything that could weaken its power for further resistance. The cage was in our hands, but the hawk had gone with wings unpinioned. Every soldier probably felt, as Lumsden’s Horse did, that any show of triumph would have been out of place in the circumstances. They took no part even in the ceremonial parade when Lord Roberts made his formal entry and the Union Jack was hoisted on the Raadzaal that afternoon, but had at least the satisfaction of knowing that their services of the previous day were appreciated by the Commander-in-Chief, who, in his despatches, wrote:
I marched with Henry’s Mounted Infantry, four companies Imperial Yeomanry, Pole-Carew’s division, Maxwell’s brigade, and the naval and siege guns, to Six-mile Spruit, both banks of which were occupied by the enemy. The Boers were quickly dislodged from the south bank by the Mounted Infantry and Imperial Yeomanry, and pursued for nearly a mile, when our troops came under artillery fire. The enemy then moved along a series of ridges parallel to our main line of advance, with the object of turning our left flank; but in this they were checked by the Mounted Infantry and Imperial Yeomanry, supported by Maxwell’s brigade.
Seeing that Louis Botha, with all the main body of Boers, had retired eastward, Lord Roberts realised the importance of making his line of communications secure in that direction, and he therefore paid a high compliment to the troops under Colonel Ross in selecting them for that duty. A few days after taking up the positions assigned to him, Colonel Lumsden wrote from Irene a letter in which he expressed his opinion of the work that had been done by all ranks in the corps under his command:
We have been told off to hold the line of communications from Pretoria to Johannesburg, A Company and Headquarters taking the first ten miles, B Company the second, and the remainder of the 8th Corps in detachments all down the line. We are here for an indefinite time, awaiting events.
Our Maxim gun under Captain Holmes has rejoined us here, having been with General French’s columns.
This is a much needed rest for all, and especially for our horses, as they are utterly unfit to do more than a couple of days’ hard marching, and I can only put ninety mounted men, including officers, into the field.
This, considering the corps landed with a full complement of 250 horses and has since received nearly 150 remounts, will give you an idea of what we have gone through, and the wear and tear our horses have had through hard marching and short feeding.
Taking it as a whole, officers and men have kept excellent health, the only prevalent disease being dysentery. The days are bright and sunny, without being hot; at times it is even cold. The nights, however, are always bitterly cold, and it is quite a usual occurrence, on awaking, to find the grass covered with frost and the water in the hand-basin frozen over. This will give you some idea of the pleasure of sleeping out with only the sky for a roof.
Our total casualties have amounted to twenty-five—just ten per cent. of the force we landed with, and a very large proportion of our ordinary fighting strength, considering that the most we have ever put in the field was 186, and we are now reduced to under a hundred mounted men.
We have heard of the release of our prisoners, and expect them to join us in a few days. Our only casualties in this shape were the seven taken on April 30 at Ospruit.
I cannot say too much in praise of the conduct of my officers and men from first to last, under many hardships and in very trying circumstances, and I feel sure they have gained a name for themselves which their many friends both in England and in India have just cause to be proud of.
I am confident that my meed of praise will be fully endorsed by those under whom I and my corps have had the honour to serve.
It is considered that the war is virtually over, and, at any rate, I fancy all Volunteer corps will be disbanded within a short time.
I have kept our accounts as nearly as possible up to date, but we are unaware if any pay already claimed has yet been placed to our credit in Cape Town, and in the meantime troopers are receiving advances through this office out of the funds brought by me from India. Fortunately, I have been able to cash cheques in the towns we have passed through, and I hope I may succeed in doing so at Pretoria to-morrow, as our cash in the box is reduced to four sovereigns.
We have received no mails, either from England or India, for the past six weeks, and we are all anxiously awaiting news.
The Special Correspondent of the ‘Englishman,’ whose close association with the corps in all circumstances can be traced through every letter, does not take his banishment to lines of communication with the Stoical philosophy that characterises Colonel Lumsden. After the freshness of it has gone he writes:
Irene—that’s where Lumsden’s Horse have been putting in time since Lord Roberts supplanted Paul Kruger in the jurisdiction of the town and in the hearts of the people of Pretoria. Irene is not so called because of any resemblance it bears to the Irene of the classics. For of all the forsaken places which it has pleased Providence to dot down on this earth of ours Irene is the most forsaken. Perhaps the Boers, in their cunning, calculated that by giving it a name like music its reproach in the land might be less. The predominating feature of the scenery in Irene is the railway. That, with rare persistence for a Transvaal railway, runs right through the place in a straight line. The late Government of this country knew a lot about railways. A crow might have done the distance between, say, Bloemfontein and Pretoria in 250 miles, but it takes the railway 500 miles. And each mile cost as many hundred pounds to build. The Government fell in with the contractor’s miscalculation. The railway is full of curves, elegant but unnecessary, and the Government—garib admi, sahib! Huzoor, bucksheesh!
Near the station stood a culvert so big that it deserved to be called a bridge. There the Boers had placed a charge of dynamite. The dynamite went off pop, and the bridge, the embankment, a section of the river, and a large slice of the scenery became as naught. Then as Lord Roberts swept north he dropped a Sapper or two—no orders, no need of any. But in three days trains as long as Chowringhee skipped over where the bridge had been, and only the two Sappers trembled for the safety of their bag o’ tricks. No Tommy ever doubts the inventions of a Sapper. And, despite the absent-mindedness attributed to him, Tommy is a man ever suspicious of the doings of his neighbour. But everybody knows about Sappers and their wonderful works.
Hence it was that Lumsden’s Horse went to Irene. The powers that had newly begun to be in Pretoria said we were to do steady Horatio, without any theatrical business, to that bridge, while the Sappers slung things about and made it pucca. After three weeks of guarding this babe of the Royal Engineers the truth dawned upon Lumsden’s Horse that they were on lines of communication. ’Twas no place for them, thought they, but the authorities had their own designs, and Lumsden’s Horse were spread out to such places as Zurfontein, Kalfontein, Oliphantfontein, Springs, &c., where the railway had been foolish enough to risk itself in the air and endanger its existence thereby, for the Boers are death and dynamite on everything in the shape of a bridge. However, while Lumsden’s Horse took care of those places no Boers ventured to disturb the peace, though they played the devil with them when we had gone.
Troopers who had not been spoilt by luxurious idleness as prisoners of war in Pretoria took a less cynical view of their situation at Irene until the monotony of it began to depress them. Notwithstanding their disappointment at having to leave Pretoria behind them before they had a chance of discovering how illusive was its outward show of plenty, they soon became reconciled to the fate that deprived them of a share in the garrison duties which would have seemed but a dull substitute for the festivities and celebrations that imagination had conjured up as a natural sequence of a triumphal entry into the Boer capital. On discovering that the surrender of Pretoria had not brought peace appreciably nearer, the correspondent of the ‘Indian Daily News’ wrote quite cheerfully:
We saw very little of the town, as, after waiting near the racecourse for about two hours, we were, much to our disgust, marched off to a station called Irene, about ten miles down the line, where we were to be put on lines of communication. Our hopes of a bit of a spin in the town after the toilsome march up were therefore blasted, and growling was more or less general, naturally enough. I think our tempers were not improved by the fact that the road out was a mass of dust, which kept going down our throats and into our eyes till one could hardly speak or see. Once in camp and settled down, things wore a very different appearance, however. Irene is a nicely wooded place, with a beautiful stream of water running just handy—in fact, a perfect camping ground; just close by is situated the model farm of the Transvaal. The grounds are very extensive, and fruit and vegetables of all sorts are grown. There is also a large fenced-in enclosure, where deer, hartebeeste, and other animals run wild. We stayed at Irene two days, and then the 8th Mounted Infantry, accompanied by three sections of B Company, went on to Kalfontein, a station about ten miles further south, leaving A Company and No. 3 Section B Company to garrison Irene. Arriving at Kalfontein late in the evening, we camped about a couple of miles from the railway station till next day, when our company moved into the station compound. We parted with the 8th Mounted Infantry here, they being sent to various stations down the line, and sorry we were to lose our old friends. Kaalfontein railway station is surrounded by nice trees, under which we kept our horses and made ourselves at home. Knowing that this would be our station for some time, we laid in a stock of pots and pans collected from the empty farmhouses, of which there were several in the vicinity, and did our cooking in pucca style. Ducks, geese, and turkeys, to say nothing of cocks and hens, besides our rations of mutton and beef, kept us going merrily, and groceries, &c., were obtainable from a few storekeepers, who paid us visits once a week. It was not surprising, therefore, that after a month of this sort of thing, with comparatively light work, after the rough time we had been having on the march up, the appearance of the men all round improved considerably, chubby rosy cheeks and well-filled-out bodies taking the place of hollow sunken-in features and more or less meagre frames. The weather, though bitterly cold in the nights and early mornings, and very warm as a rule during the days, was thoroughly enjoyable, and accounted in a great measure, no doubt, for the improved state of most of the men’s health. Our work consists in patrolling the line south of Irene, and also the country round on every side, and we also supply men daily for observation posts in various directions.
The life we lead is, for the most part, a peaceful one, though in examining farms and scouring the country round, which we do in parties of six, under an officer as a rule, there is always the chance of being potted by the wily Boer. This has happened on three occasions during our stay, our men being fired upon at close range, and having to flee for their lives. None of us was touched, but the bullets came pretty close most times. These small patrols, by the way, are, I think, the most unsatisfactory part of one’s work, looked at from a personal point of view. One stands every chance of being shot, and knows that immediately one is fired at it is a case of turning and riding for dear life, without a chance of retaliation, or at any rate immediate retaliation, as the Boers always outnumber us and hold the positions on these occasions.
Most of the farms round about Kalfontein are unoccupied, the farmers and their families evidently having left in haste, only carrying away a few necessaries with them; but some of their houses have been left in charge of the Boer Memsahibs, the Sahibs having gone on a man-shooting expedition with the nearest commando, or, perhaps, being Commandants themselves. A case in point is that of Commandant Erasmus, who has a large farm about seven miles from here, where he has left his wife and five or six comely daughters. Needless to say, this is a favourite patrol, though the girls are shy and retiring, and the old lady waxes very wroth when approached with a view to doing a deal in sheep, saying she has only enough to keep herself and family going, doubtless including papa when he pays them his periodical visit by stealth during the night.
Another trooper takes up the narrative with a sigh of regret for the things that cannot be got at Boer farms for love or money:
We are all languishing for an iced whisky peg and a decent meal, and often wonder whether we shall enjoy either again. Our work has been no picnic, and, though we are all as enthusiastic over it as ever, I must admit our experiences have been many and hard. We have dwindled down in numbers, too, through casualties and sickness, and our clothing is showing signs of wear and tear. The spick-and-span stage has long since vanished, and a wash once a week is a luxury. Some had grown quite respectable—disrespectable I might say—beards, but the Colonel has a rooted antipathy to hirsute growth on the chin. We have also had some changes. Trooper Percy Smith has obtained a commission in the Berkshires, but pro tem. is doing duty with the 8th Mounted Infantry; Trooper Huddleston (a cousin of Lady Roberts and brother to the E.I.R. Traffic Manager) has been appointed Assistant-Commissioner of Police in Kroonstad, while Lieutenant Pugh fills a similar office at Heilbron.
We have been cut off from our mails for more than a month, and are very anxious to see the letters that have accumulated somewhere for us. Our doings, I expect, have been telegraphed to India as they occurred, for there is a plethora of newspaper correspondents following in the wake of the army and with Headquarters—Lionel James represents the ‘Times,’ and has been to see his Indian friends.
The Kaffir we have come in contact with here is a bad lot, and he has harassed the Boer farmers terribly during the war, being a perfect Pindaree in his depredations. He loots anything and everything he can lay hands on, and shifts his allegiance from Boer to British directly our troops enter his province. In this respect the excuse he makes is that since the outbreak of the war the Boers have not troubled to pay their native servants any wages, while keeping them at work as usual.
All the Volunteers (Colonial and Imperial) receive 5s. and as much as 7s. 6d. per day, while Kaffirs earn on an average 4l. 10s. per mensem in our employ. It comes a bit rough on us to find our remuneration fixed at 1s. 2d. plus 3d. for rations per diem. Considering that we mainly exist on private purchases of stores, the want of ready money is a great hardship. Some of our troopers have spent from 10l. to 20l. a month on groceries and smokes since our arrival in Africa. Ten shillings for a packet of cigarettes has often been willingly given, while nobody would think two shillings for a loaf of bread exorbitant. The reason for these prices is always that the Boers have commandeered all they could lay hands on in their retreat. Since our departure from Bloemfontein we have not seen our tents. Our nightly shelter has been the frosty canopy of heaven, and our couch the African veldt (pronounced ‘felt’).
A letter to the ‘Indian Daily News’ gives some interesting personal details:
At Irene and Kaalfontein several of our men who had been prisoners at Pretoria and Waterval, and others who had been left behind at various places sick, rejoined, and we were very glad to have them back among us again. Some of our number have had their services requisitioned by Government, among them being Lieutenant H.O. Pugh, who has been appointed Assistant Commissioner at Heilbron; Sergeant P.P. Warburton, Secretary to the Irish Hospital at Pretoria; Sergeant W.C. Conduit to the Engineering Department of the railway near Johannesburg; Private J.E. Cubitt, Assistant Traffic Manager on the railway at Johannesburg; Private F.M. Clifford, Mounted Orderly to General Ian Hamilton; Private Huddleston, Assistant Commissioner at Kroonstad; and Private Firth, to the Financial Department at Pretoria. Sergeant D.S. Fraser was also appointed to the Financial Department at Pretoria, and worked there for about a month, but has now rejoined the regiment and resumed his duties as Paymaster; and Sergeant Thesiger and Privates Moir-Byres, Lytle, Thelwall, and Thornton worked in the Remount Department at Johannesburg until the Depôt there was closed.
Among those who had been prisoners from April 30 until our entry into Pretoria, and about whose fate some doubt existed for a time, was Trooper Clarence Walton. His gallantry in sacrificing himself while attempting to save a wounded comrade was mentioned by Colonel Lumsden as an act of conspicuous devotion on a day when the corps gained high credit and a reluctant rebuke for many brave deeds. Like others who fell into the hands of enemies that day, he experienced nothing but kindness from his captors. To this he bears willing testimony in the following letter:
Starting from the time of our first action of April 30, when I had the misfortune to be slightly wounded and taken prisoner, it might be interesting to add my experience of the treatment I received to that of the other prisoners. After our fighting line retired from my direction a Boer came down to me and asked if I was wounded. I told him I was hit in the foot, and he offered to take my boot and gaiter off for me, which I accepted. He then got a small pony and helped me on, and took me to a farm about half a mile distant, where an English doctor (on the Boer side) attended to my case immediately, and then gave me a jolly good meal, better than I had had for some time. The following night I was taken to Brandfort Hospital, where I received every kindness possible, the nurses being exceedingly attentive, and the Boers themselves, far from showing any ill-feeling, came and talked and gave me tobacco. One lady cycled to her home with the object of getting some books for me to read; but unfortunately she arrived back just too late, as we were being placed in the waggon to go to Smaldeel and entrain there for Pretoria. Lieutenant Crane, who was also a prisoner, travelled most of the way in the same waggons and train as myself. He was kind enough to allow me to share the little tobacco he had got, for which I was exceedingly grateful. After reaching Pretoria I was handed over to our own people at the hospital on the racecourse, where, although I did not have quite such a comfortable time as I had had with the Boer ambulances, I had nothing to complain of, as the British residents at Pretoria did everything they could for us, and we have to thank them for all the little luxuries they gave us. The food we received from the Boers was sufficient to keep one alive, and that is about all.
After Pretoria was taken I found myself a prisoner of the R.A.M.C., which I found to be very irksome, although at Pretoria the Major in charge allowed us our liberty to a great extent. When I got to Bloemfontein I was fortunate enough to meet Dr. Roe, late doctor in Assam, who treated Saunders and myself with great kindness, and did everything he could to make us comfortable.
Life at Irene was not all unpleasant. Several lively incidents brightened existence there, and some reflex of them comes to us through the cheery words of Captain Neville Taylor, whose arduous duties as Adjutant did not prevent him from garnering a fund of merry anecdotes. Here is one:
After Pretoria had been taken A Company and Headquarters remained at Irene, and B Company went to Kalfontein, ten miles south on the line. The duties at both places were similar, in that they had to patrol the line and the neighbourhood. One of the Irene regular patrols was to Pretoria and back daily.
On one of the usual patrols into that town Captain Rutherfoord passed a German ambulance proceeding south, who explained that they had been allowed to do so, but carried no pass. Arriving at Pretoria, he reported the fact to the authorities, and also that he had stopped the ambulance until he could get orders concerning it. On inquiry, having ascertained that nothing was known about it, he obtained a letter to the Commandant at Irene, who was told to ascertain that the ambulance people were carrying no papers for the use of the enemy, and, if satisfied, to allow them to proceed. The Commandant, being a man of high ideals, did not see his way to thoroughly searching the ambulance, which contained four German nurses, in addition to the four doctors, and he therefore allowed them to pass on having taken the senior doctor’s word of honour that they had with them nothing of any use to the enemy in the way of papers. The ambulance then went on its way, but stopped the night at Kalfontein, ten miles beyond Irene. In the evening a wire came to us for an officer’s patrol to bring all those people back to Pretoria. Captain Rutherfoord was accordingly sent to Kalfontein for the purpose, and returned in the evening with the party.
Colonel Lumsden and all of us felt so sorry for the prisoners that we decided to ask them to dinner, which invitation being accepted, in due course we all sat down together in our little mess-house.
During our stay at Irene, as it was bitterly cold, we had run up a small hut: walls of piled-up stones, a tin roof, and a most cunningly contrived fireplace which did not smoke. We decorated the place with flowers, had a tip-top dinner, and drank crème de menthe as our only beverage. The dinner went off in the wonderful way dinners do. None of us could talk German, and none of them English, and yet we conversed freely and had the greatest fun. The show concluded with songs, and the last remembrance I have of it was that the Colonel and the prettiest ‘sister’ were taking down one another’s addresses and betting gloves about something in the quietest corner. Rutherfoord had been hiding as much as possible, as he felt himself to blame for being the cause of all their trouble, but we gave him away at the end, and though they all pretended to be very angry with him, we unanimously allowed that he had beaten all but the Colonel in winning the favours of the fair sex.
At about 2 A.M. we escorted them back to their caravan and said good-night, first of all pointing out that a sentry was posted over them, with orders to shoot at sight if anyone left the waggons during the night. They started for Pretoria at daybreak, but most of the officers were there to see them off, while one met them a few miles up the road. The Colonel was late for breakfast that morning. We heard afterwards that on arrival at Pretoria they were searched, and the result was that the doctors went to gaol, and the dear ladies were sent under supervision out of the country. We all, however, are quite certain that they were innocent victims of Boer duplicity.
Another story is very characteristic of Tommy’s smartness:
At one of the camps—I think Elandsfontein—a party of us got leave to go into the town for dinner. We had come in late, and either had not been given or had forgotten the countersign. Near the town we came upon a sentry, who challenged in the usual way, and who let us through after making certain that we were officers of Lumsden’s Horse. After going a few yards we heard him say to his pal that it was all right, as we were only ‘some of those d——d Volunteers,’ this being meant in all politeness and only Tommy’s patois. One officer of ours, however, half-jokingly threatened to report him if he talked like that again. After a good dinner we were returning to camp and came upon the same sentry. ‘Halt! Who goes there?’ ‘Friend.’ ‘Advance one and give the countersign.’ One officer, advancing, said, ‘D——d Volunteer.’ Tommy shouldered with a slap and roared out, ‘Pass, D——d Volunteer, and all’s well!’ He had the best of us, and we laughed as much as the guard.
About this time the Boers in Pretoria were also making merry over an incident associated with countersigns in which one who played a sentry’s part had the laugh on his side at the expense of British officers. It happened at a crisis when Botha was known to have secret emissaries in the capital warning him of every preparation for a fresh movement, and it illustrates perfectly the aptitude of Boers as spies, and the easy-going inefficiency of our own precaution against traitors. A young Boer, speaking English fluently, came from Botha’s force just after Lord Roberts was supposed to have dispersed it in the neighbourhood of Diamond Hill. He reached our outposts not far from the limits patrolled by Lumsden’s Horse, and, being armed with one of the passes that have been lavishly distributed and frequently abused, he had no difficulty in getting through the British lines. Once inside them, he was free to move about anywhere and ascertain that nearly all available troops, except one division, had been withdrawn from Pretoria for concentration elsewhere. He even loitered about to hear the talk at a club frequented by officers and by ‘friendly’ civilians, whose privileges of membership nobody assumed the right to question. There and in hotel halls or billiard-rooms, where officers, regardless of attentive listeners, incautiously spoke of their own probable movements, this young Boer picked up much entertaining gossip and useful information. But he also learned, to his dismay, that nobody could move about the town or leave it after nightfall without the countersign. His idea was to get out again under cover of darkness, with all the news that he could gather for General Botha, but he heard that provisional police would by that time be patrolling all the streets, alert and zealous in the performance of their new duties, and also that every outlet by which a horseman could pass would have double sentries posted after sunset. A wary Boer never tries rash experiments if he can avoid them, and this young man, having no unpatriotic wish to run his head into a noose, adopted other measures.
Going to a friend’s house, in which some British uniforms were kept as trophies until the police discovered and appropriated them, he dressed in khaki, donned a greatcoat, and armed himself with a Mauser carbine. All this may seem impossible in a town under martial law, but arms and ammunition were found in private houses long after the date of this incident, and nobody ever heard of exemplary punishment being meted out to offenders, who generally got off scot free on a plea of ignorance. At any rate, the young Boer, thus equipped to counterfeit a provisional policeman, sallied forth at night, when a high collar, turned well up for protection against the icy north wind, and a hat slouched over the eyes, would not have attracted any attention. Making use of mental notes previously taken, he placed himself near the corner of a street so much frequented by officers on their way to or from the club that special police seldom troubled to look after it. There he had not long to wait for a chance of challenging, and in response the countersign was given as a matter of course without the least suspicion. Safe in the possession of this password, the ingenious young Boer mounted his horse, and, claiming to be the bearer of despatches, rode past our outlying pickets and off into the darkness on his way to the nearest Boer commando. Some officers of Lumsden’s Horse were in the Pretoria Club that night, but it was not they who gave away the countersign. Occasional visits to Pretoria in the vain hope of finding that some articles of luxury or much-needed outfit could be bought there became great events in the lives of both officers and men during their banishment to lines of communication. Somehow a goodly number of them, for whom sport was an irresistible attraction, managed to assemble on ground a mile outside the racecourse when three score of competitors started for the first military steeplechase ever ridden near Pretoria. After this event Colonel Lumsden wrote with pardonable pride:
Beharis will be pleased to hear that Captain Rutherfoord, of ours, won the first paper-chase in Pretoria. There were sixty starters over a stiff country, with the result that grief was plentiful.
But that view of the result, though entertained by nearly every spectator who was near enough to watch an exciting finish, did not commend itself to the official whose decision none could question. How it all came about may be told by an eye-witness, who was also a competitor until, finding himself hopelessly out of the race, he took to ‘skirting,’ and finally joined a crowd of onlookers at the winning-post.
The German Staff officer who said that English soldiers went into a fight as if it were sport and took their sport seriously as training for battle, must have been thinking of some scene like that in which British officers and Volunteers of all ranks figured on Pretoria Racecourse that last Saturday in June 1900. There we were in the midst of war with an active enemy not many miles off, yet nobody seemed to concern himself much about what the Boers might be doing at that moment. All were intent upon the important business in hand. A paper-chase had to be run, and every man meant to do his best, whether mounted on a Basuto pony that had never jumped any obstacle more formidable than a boggy spruit before, or on a raking Waler or clever English hunter. Lord Roberts had given permission for a paper-chase and theoretically the sport took that form. There were no prizes for winners, no clerk of the scales, no weighing-in, no penalties for infringement of Hunt Club rules. All who cared to start might enjoy that privilege. But practically the thing resolved itself into a steeple-chase under regulations that forbade riding from point to point at discretion; a course being marked by flags round which every starter was compelled to go or lose his chance of distinction. Paper-hunting would have been child’s play in a country like this unless it had led us over rough kopjes and away across the veldt, where there might have been a chance of Boer patrols chipping in. So to add some touch of excitement, and the spice of danger, without which no British sport is worthy of that name, artificial fences were made more difficult to negotiate than torrent-filled spruits or boggy water-courses. Two stone walls enclosing a mealie patch came handy, and suggested themselves as most appropriate for a start where spectators might see some fun at the outset if veldt ponies tried to tumble over, as they generally do, without jumping. A run without hound-music as an accompaniment did not commend itself to the immortal Jorrocks, whose eulogy of ‘’unting, the image of war without its guilt and only 25 per cent. of its danger,’ would have been considerably modified in application to such sport as ours of that day, if that genial M.F.H. could have seen the horses some men chose to risk their necks on. They were of all sizes, shapes, and breeds. As for the fences, an Irish hunter would have larked over every one in his stride; but it is quite another thing with horses that have never been trained to leap.
Pretoria did not give itself away all at once to the temptations of a novel spectacle; but there were ladies in carriages among the little crowd of sightseers, and some stolid burghers looked on with approval, while others took part in the chase, for Boers have a bond of sympathy with us in love of horse-racing and field sports. The Commander-in-Chief came, sitting his shapely chestnut with a firmer and more workmanlike ease than half the horsemen present could boast of, and looking as if he could still show them all the way over a stiff hunting country. His appearance at the starting-point was a signal for marshalling the forces into line.
Then a Staff officer gave the word to go, and away went the motley field, more than half a hundred strong, spurring, hustling, charging like a Cavalry squadron for all they were worth. A light-weight, who served with distinction in Her Majesty’s Navy years ago, was quickest off, and led them over the two stone walls, closely followed by Captain Cox, of the New South Wales Lancers. Then came the second flight, riding for the walls knee to knee. Thanks to bold hearts and resolute riding, they all got over. A fall in that dense formation with another rank rushing close behind would have brought more than one rider to unutterable grief. But the ranks began to thin where a spruit had to be crossed, with steep banks into and out of the drift. There the ‘Skipper’s’ pony, with speed unchecked, gained a good lead, but he came down at the next made-up fence and gave his rider a nasty fall. The active light-weight, however, nipped into the saddle and went on cheery as ever. Then in clouds of dust, through which the fences could scarcely be seen, leggy horses and diminutive ponies rushed onward, jostling for a lead as before. Captain McNeil, of Montmorency’s Scouts, came down and broke his collar-bone, and Gibbs, of the Somerset Yeomanry, falling with his horse on top of him, had two ribs broken. But still ‘the chase went sweeping heedless by’ over a wide dug-out, with a hurdle to screen it and a trappy ditch where the road had to be crossed. Then they spread out to gallop over stony ground for the spruit, into which many floundered. The pace was beginning to tell on horses out of condition as they struggled up hill to go for a formidable bank of sandbags topped with loose earth that had been dug out of the ditch in front. Down-hill again to a hollow, where the little stream meandering between boggy ground had to be crossed three times. There several jaded steeds came to a standstill, having shot their bolts, and only a select few went up the next hill to the trappiest fence of all, where water flowed between deep banks. There the ‘Skipper’ got his third fall, but he mounted again and followed the leaders as they rounded the flag and rode for home. Captain Cox had also been left behind, and the running was taken up by Captain Rutherfoord, of Lumsden’s Horse, with Major Kenna, V.C., of the 21st Lancers, in close attendance. Flanks were heaving and pipes wheezing before the next boulder-strewn ridge had been crossed. ‘A run is nothing without music,’ said a subaltern as he roused his panting steed for another effort. He nearly blundered, as many others did, over the next little fence, and they were being left hopelessly behind. Kenna and Rutherfoord charged the last stone wall side by side, and rose together at it. Rutherfoord landed first, and had the race in hand, but, mistaking the post, eased his horse too soon. So Kenna, V.C., got a neck ahead in the straight run home, and thus won his right to claim the brush or whatever may be a substitute for it in paper-chasing. That was the official verdict, but Lumsden’s Horse still hold that their champion was first past the post.
One day a pleasant incident enlivened Colonel Lumsden’s ordinarily uneventful round of inspections. He had been visiting posts south of Irene, and was hurrying back to headquarters on an affair of urgent importance, when a train stopped at one of the sidings. Before he had time to realise that it was a special, or to make any inquiries, the train began to move again. So he jumped on to the nearest platform, and presently found himself in a corridor, cleaner and more carefully looked after than any he had seen on a Transvaal railway up to that time. Not knowing what to make of it, and half-expecting to meet an angry Chief of the Staff face to face, he refrained from exploring further. Presently a lady passed and said, ‘Won’t you come in?’ Colonel Lumsden was smoking at the time, and declined for that reason. ‘But mother wishes you to come,’ was the reply. So the gallant Colonel yielded with ready grace, and found himself in the presence of Lady Roberts, who, with her daughters, was on the way to Pretoria. They were just then nearing Irene, and Colonel Lumsden drew attention to the camp of his Indian Volunteers, in whom he thought Lady Roberts would naturally be much interested. To his surprise he saw a huge bonfire burning, and in silhouette against it were the words, ‘Welcome to Lady Roberts!’ Sergeant-Major Stephens had hit upon this happy idea, and put it into execution just at the right moment. One of the daughters, seeing it, said, ‘Oh, mother, there is a warm welcome for you, at any rate!’ Lady Roberts frequently referred to this impromptu welcome in conversation with Colonel Lumsden afterwards, and spoke appreciatively of the pleasure it had given her.
For nearly two months—from the fall of Pretoria on June 5 to July 29—Lumsden’s Horse were scattered up and down the railway lines between Pretoria and Johannesburg.
Colonel Lumsden gives the following official account of this period in a letter to the executive committee of his corps:
My headquarters are still at Irene, while my corps is stationed in detachments along the railway from here to Springs. I am daily expecting an order to concentrate either here or at the latter point, having received official information that we are to be relieved by Mounted Infantry from the Regulars.
Beyond living in a constant state of alarm, standing to arms at all hours of the night, and our patrols shooting and being shot at, there is little or nothing of interest to record.
Scouting parties have had several narrow escapes, but nothing of a serious nature occurred until yesterday (July 13), when I heard by wire from Captain Beresford at Springs that Private Claude F. Walton, of the Mysore detachment, had been wounded rather severely while out on patrol with Captain Clifford, but without, I understand, endangering his life. The shot was fired from a farmhouse, which has since, I am glad to say, been burnt to the ground. Two days previously, when I was on a visit to Springs, Captain Chamney and his patrol had rather a narrow squeak, but got safely away under a pelting fire.
The Boer outposts are within four to five miles of our position at Springs, where Colonel Ross and part of his corps are stationed, but they are too weak to take the initiative.
The weather is still bitterly cold at night, but the men have now had time to rig up temporary shelters of sorts, while the detachments at Zurfontein and Springs have been fortunate in obtaining iron-roofed shelters to live in.
I much regret to have to inform you of the death of Private M.B. Follett, of the Mysore detachment, from enteric fever in hospital at Johannesburg on the 7th inst., and that the undernamed have been left at various hospitals on the march up sick, or sent down from here.
Some may return to headquarters, but I anticipate that most of them will proceed to England or to India, invalided or convalescent.
Young Follett’s brother was fortunately with him at the last, and it is gratifying to note that the rites usually accorded to an officer were observed at his interment.
The men in the attached list have mostly received their regimental pay up to date, and I have done my best to see that any balance due to them in this respect will be paid before they leave Cape Town.
I have also given in such cases five pounds to each man for necessaries on the voyage. This responsibility I have taken on myself, having ample funds in hand, and I feel sure the committee will approve my action, more especially as many men are utterly unable to get into communication with their friends and are entirely without money.
I understand Government intends to grant this amount to each soldier as a war gratuity at the close of the campaign; the sums thus given will therefore be recoverable.
List of Men in Hospital Private D.O. Allardice J.H.A. Burn-Murdoch
E. Adlam R.G.H. Muskett
Lance-Corporal Hugh Blair C. McMinn
Private E.N. Bankes A. Martin
H.C. Bennett Sergeant-Major E.H. Mansfield
C.J.D. Bewsher Private R.C. Nolan
W.R. Birch H.B. Oldham
Lance-Corporal Butler (A.D.) H.W. Puckridge
Private W.B. Brown E.B. Parkes
Baldwin P.W. Pryce
J.S. Campbell N.J.V. Reid
Cheshire J.W.A. Skelton
H. Cooper J.S. Saunders
Sergeant E. Dawson S. Sladden
Lance-Sergeant J.S. Elliott B.C.A.A. Steuart
Private A.H. Francis H.W. Thelwall
E.H. Gough W. Turnbull
G.A. Gowenlock T. Thompson
R.P. Haines A.N. Woods
C.C. Harvey C.A. Walton
W.H. Holme F.W. Wright
J.V. Jameson C.F. Walton
R. Tait Innes L.H. Zorab
Jackman W.S. Lemon
G.E. C.E. Stuart
D.J. Keating A.C. Walker
H.M. Logan
Regimental Sergeant-Major Marsham’s friends in Behar will regret to hear that bad luck has again overtaken him. On the way up to rejoin after recovering from his wounds, he was so unfortunate as to be in company with the Derbyshire Militia when they met with their disaster, and is believed to have been taken prisoner with them. So far I have no official communication as to this, but, not having heard from or of him, conclude it is only too true.
Private Percy Smith and Lance-Corporal Hugh Blair have received commissions in the Regular forces and are no longer with the corps, although the former is for a time attached to the Oxford M.I.—part of our own regiment under Colonel Ross. Blair is among the sick men mentioned and at present in Cape Town.
Lord Roberts has also been good enough to grant commissions to Private Douglas Jones—in the Army Service Corps—Privates J.A. Fraser, Collins, T.B. Nicholson, J.S. Biscoe, and Corporal Bates. Several of the latter are for the West India Regiments. All these remain with me for the present.
Lieutenant Pugh and Private Huddleston have been appointed Assistant Commissioners at Heilbron and Kroonstad respectively.
The names of several other applicants are still before His Excellency, and I hope to advise you soon of their having received commissions also. At the same time I do not expect any of these will leave the corps until its disbandment. Young Maurice Clifford has been taken on by General Ian Hamilton as orderly, and is also likely to receive a commission, as well as Leslie Williams, son of the late popular Gwatkin Williams.
Captain Rutherfoord, Lieutenant Crane, and Sergeant Macnamara have been offered commissions in the Transvaal Mounted Police, and will probably remain in this country, as I believe will a good many others.
Captain Stevenson is likely to obtain an important veterinary appointment out here, and Dr. (Captain) Powell is also in the running for a high medical post should he prefer this to returning to India.
All the above, added to the continued requisitions for men of my corps for various offices, point to the esteem in which they are held by the authorities apart from their fighting qualities. In fact, were it not for strong remonstrances on my part to official requests, I should be in a fair way to lose a big percentage of my men before the work for which they came out has been completed.
In my previous letter I mentioned the sad plight to which our horses had been reduced, and that at the time of writing I doubted my ability to place ninety mounted men in the field fit for a two-days’ march. You will now be pleased to hear that in this respect things have improved, and that I can now mount 180 officers and men on fairly serviceable animals, few, however, remaining of our original Indian chargers. In this connection I may also mention that out of sixty Argentine remounts received at Kroonstad, only one is alive.
Now comes the important question of finance.
I have been spending various sums on comforts for the men, the largest item being 50l. for a much-needed supply of tobacco.
The men are very badly in want of clothes, especially breeches, tunics, and boots. I have indented on the Government Stores at Bloemfontein for a complete outfit, and hope to receive it shortly. This, of course, will be issued to us gratis. Nothing in the shape of clothing can be got for money.
I am enclosing a statement showing roughly the financial position of the corps. From this you will see that, provided the war is not prolonged beyond our present anticipations, there will be an ample balance left to admit of the payments estimated for in Calcutta.
