Travelling by night from Cape Town, the wonderful scenery of the Hex mountains is hidden from view. Fortunately, however, my journey homewards at the end of June carried me by daylight through this truly magnificent country. The railway winds round the hills, as only Cape railways do, and every one of the grand features that meet the eye is presented from three or four different points of view as the train rambles through a valley or zigzags up a mountain side towards the passes or “ neks ” by which the line surmounts a variety of tremendous obstacles. Of all this I saw nothing at the time, and by daybreak the route lay through a somewhat desolate, and far less interesting country. The monotony was broken at Nelspoort about 5 p.m., where the surroundings became distinctly picturesque, more especially a curious pyramid-shaped kopje on the eastern side of the railway just north of the station. A little further on was a very rich-looking farm upon the same side. At Nelspoort itself there was also a nice farm, and near it, apparently returning from a visit to the other, was a tall girl in a pretty white frock, her thick brown hair tied with a pink ribbon in a single great plait. After this refreshing vision the “ Karroo ” desert seemed for a long time far less uninterestingly repulsive.
At 2.30 a.m. on the 5th the train reached De Aar, where Landon met me, after a long, weary wait since midnight, when we ought to have arrived. From him I learned that the troops which had until recently occupied Naauwpoort, Stormberg, and other small stations, had been withdrawn during the previous day to De Aar and Queenstown. Except in the case of Stormberg—a strong position that it was well worth risking a good deal in order to retain possession of—this concentration was a thoroughly sound proceeding. The isolated detachments were too weak to oppose the enemy’s advance with any hope of success, and yet strong enough to involve a serious loss of prestige in the event of their capture or destruction.
After a short conversation we decided that, under all the circumstances, it would be best for me to continue at once to Queenstown without regard for the apparent probability that Jess, Arendse, etc., might be unable to follow. The belief generally prevailed that the train now about to start was certainly the last that had any chance of getting through. Accordingly I abandoned my belongings to their fate, while at the same time congratulating myself upon having retained all my personal baggage, instead of sending the greater part in the horse-box as I had at first intended.
Three hours late the train at length proceeded on its way, and at 11.30, instead of 8.30 a.m., I had breakfast at Steynsberg, a small town abont forty miles west of Stormberg Junction, and a hotbed of “Bond” Dutchmen. We passed many ostrich farms on both sides of the line, more particularly in the neighbourhood of Bosmead Junction, and thence towards Steynsbuig. Game seemed to be scarce, but I saw three Paauw—the great bustard—and great quantities of the brown plover— commonly called “Kivi-chi,” a name derived from the cry of the bird, just as the common green plover at home is called a “Pee-wit.” With our arrival at Stormberg Junction the excitement of the journey ended, since there could no longer be any serious danger of the train being “ stuck up; ” and shortly afterwards we reached Molteno, where luncheon awaited the passengers. The station-master at Stormberg was a most estimable old man and a tremendous Britisher. He confided to me with many chuckles how his suspicions had been aroused, he knew not why, at the sight of a couple of quite innocent-looking packing-cases which on being opened proved to contain rifles. He had taken upon himself to forward these goods to the military authorities instead of to the proper consignee—no doubt to the infinite annoyance of the latter.
At Molteno we found the armoured train with a detachment of Cape Police in trucks attached to it. This caused considerable delay, as it apparently occurred to no one to shunt this train in order to allow the mail to pass. However in course of time we reached Queenstown, where I was fortunate enough to find a bedroom at the Royal Hotel—not in the house, but in the stable-yard. This, however, was far better than having to sleep under a wagon or on the open veldt, and I was thankful when I sat down to a somewhat late dinner that a night’s rest in a fairly comfortable bed had been secured after spending two nights in the train.
Queenstown was full of refugees from the border and from the Free State, many of whom were in a state of utter destitution and in receipt of relief from the kindly townsfolk—Mr. Peacock, a wealthy merchant, being at the head of the charitable organization and well backed up by all classes. Many of these unfortunate people must be utterly ruined unless they receive ample compensation after the war is over. Apart from their present troubles, the British section of the community in districts north of Queenstown has suffered endless annoyance, amounting to veritable persecution, for several years past. Disloyalty pervades the Dutch population throughout the Colony, and the “Bond” has been almost universally triumphant. There are bright exceptions, of course, such as Mr. Theophilus Schreiner, whose letter to the Cape Times of November 7 is printed in the Appendix; but Dutchmen sufficiently enlightened to be naturally “ loyal ” are few and far between. The race hatred that has arisen springs from the contempt that Dutchmen have learned to feel for everything British, and for this we have only ourselves to blame. Firmness in the past would have prevented the terrible war that a long reign of pusillanimity has produced. It is, curiously enough, the fashion of those in England who are directly responsible for the war to contend that it might and ought to have been avoided. Nothing is more true; but these gentlemen overlook the fact that it has been the very policy of which the party to which they belong have been the exponents, that has provoked the conflict by allowing a tiny spark that might easily have been quenched, to grow into the fierce flame which has so severely tried our resources in the inevitable task of extinguishing it. But for the disloyalty of some and the weakness of other British politicians at home, the Transvaal would never have armed, nor would there have been any war. Poor ELruger has good reason to curse those who have so grossly deceived him as to the real temper and power of the British Empire. Let it be granted that the arming of the Transvaal to an immoderate extent was the result of the “Raid.” So it was. But it was owing to the mis-government and consequent unrest of the country that the raid itself came to be conceived, and had the Convention of 1881 been enforced with even reasonable firmness and consistency, there would have been no raid, because there could have been no incentives to promote it.
