On December 31st we started in the Boer ambulance train, a most perfect thing of its kind. The feeling of getting out after a long illness is always a great pleasure, and I remember feeling in high spirits as we steamed along through Glencoe towards Newcastle, with the country at its best. The line was guarded all the way to Pretoria, and at each culvert or bridge there was a small garrison, the defenders, as a rule, being housed in our bell tents, captured, no doubt, at Dundee.
Crowds came to look at us at each station ; they were always friendly, and wanted to talk to us. But as we got nearer Pretoria my spirits went lower and lower, and New Year's Day found them very low indeed. How I hated the man on the train who on that morning said, "A happy New Year to you." How could we look forward to a happy new year when we were just entering on a period of captivity, the end of which seemed so far away ? We arrived at Pretoria at 10 a.m. on New Year's Day. There was a large crowd at the station. Here the army doctor who had been in charge at Dundee, and all the orderlies, soldiers, and civilians were packed off to Delagoa Bay, and I said goodbye to Mr. Annis and Mr. Arnot, of Dundee, who had been so good to me.
We were now entirely in Dutch hands. The thirty men were taken to one hospital, while Nugent, Carbery, and I were taken to Burke's hospital. This hospital, for which the Boer officials took to themselves great credit, was run entirely by Mr. Burke, an Englishman and a resident of Pretoria. He was an extremely kind man; he saw that we had everything we required, and bore the whole expense himself.
There were in the hospital, when we arrived, Major Adie and Lieutenant Kentish, recovering from enteric, and twenty-three wounded Boers. Miss Lowry, the matron, was a trained English nurse; the others were Pretoria ladies, among them being daughters of Lucas Meyer and of the late President Burgers. Though amateurs they were good nurses, and they fully carried out Lucas Meyer's injunction to his daughter, when he told her she was to treat the British just the same as the Boers. In fact I think some of them, possibly owing to the novelty of the thing, possibly owing to his more civilised ways, had a preference for nursing the British officer. Anyway, we were very good friends. Dr. Veale was our doctor.
The day after my arrival I had my arm X-rayed, and curiously enough in the dark-room I recognised the photographer as Tom Woolley-Dod, who had been an old friend and neighbour in Cheshire.
The Boer officials were most suspicious, and allowed no communication at first with the outside world. Instead of putting us on parole, and giving us a chance of convalescing, we were shut up all day in one room, not allowed to see the papers or any friends. Even when I had a tooth out the operation was performed by a dent1st armed to his teeth with forceps and revolver, while the Commandant and a Zarp (policeman) armed with rifle and bandolier, were also present to see that I, no giant when in health, and at that time scarcely able to walk, did not try to escape.
I never had anything to say against the fighting Boer or his Commandant, but the officials at Pretoria were mean and petty in the extreme, and it was only their great desire to appear civilised in the eyes of Europeans which made them treat us as well as they did. The meaning of " the word of honour of a gentleman " was quite unknown to them, so that they would not hear of my taking convalescent exercise on parole.
From January 12th we were allowed to see friends, i.e. one at a time from the officers, prisoners in the Model School. But the interview only lasted five minutes, with the Boer Commandant listening to hear that no plans of escape were made and no news exchanged. The Boer Commandant, who was a beast, might occasionally be detained by the offer of fruit or a cigar, and Dr. Gunning, the other warder, who was a good fellow, might be delayed by a discussion on philately, but at most these interviews never lasted a quarter-of-an-hour. The time went very slowly—day after day, nothing to do, no letters from home, and no news but bad news ; so, after over six weeks without leaving my bedroom, I longed for a change of any kind, and as my wound had nearly stopped running, I, against the advice of those who knew the life, got transferred, on February 8th, to the Model School, where there were over ninety officers as prisoners.
On the whole, at first, I much preferred the life in the Model School. In hospital the food was better, but with only one window to look out of, and no chance of exercise, one had got very much bored. Here there was far more room, and there were lots of people to talk to. The building was a large oblong one with a path all round it. In front it had a verandah, and an iron railing between the path and the main road. At the back were a small playground, two baths, and a cookhouse. There were twelve Zarps on guard all round the building. The bedrooms had nine of us in each, which was rather crowded; there were no shelves, nor anywhere to put one's belongings. Only one soldier servant was allowed to twenty officers. A bed, a mattress, one blanket, and a pillow were supplied.
At about 5.30 a.m., while all were in bed, the head-gaoler used to come round and count heads, to see that nobody had escaped in the night. About 6.15 I used to turn out to have my bath. The early mornings were lovely, so that even if one had to wait some time for one's bath, with a cup of coffee and a cigarette in the verandah, it was no hardship. When dressed I used to take about a mile walk before breakfast at 8.30. The meals were the worst part of the life. The room crowded and hot, overworked servants, a hundred of us at small tables, no table-cloth, unclean kitchen knives and forks, noise, bustle, dirty plates, indifferent food, and only water to drink. After breakfast one would smoke, talk and lounge in a deck chair in the verandah, and read books which could be got from the town library.
By noon it was quite hot At 1.30 we had another meal to face, after which I used to play patience, or lie on my bed reading, not infrequently allowing a siesta to pass away an hour. About four one would take a stroll round the estate, about one-ninth of a mile round. Tea at 4.30, a good square meal, after which some used to play rounders or quoits in the small playground at the back, while the majority took exercise, walking round and round the crowded court. At 7.30 p.m. dinner, a dirty piggery sort of meal, after which we were not allowed outside, and used to play cards, or talk or read, until about ten, when we turned in.
The hundred officers presented a weird sight, and it was no wonder that people passing on the opposite side of the road used to stop and have a good stare at us. One could imagine, when they stopped and talked to the Zarps, that they were asking if we really were officers. Colonels, majors, subalterns, and magistrates, some no doubt, in better times, very particular as to their personal appearance, were to be seen with long hair and shaggy beards, dressed in all sorts of ready-made, badly-fitting, cheap Pretoria suitings. A scarf or muffler was more fashionable than a collar and tie, and a helmet usually gave a finishing touch to the get-up, for the authorities would not allow any hat which might help towards an escape.
Almost every regiment was represented. There were also a few civilians, magistrates and police, and a parson, the Rev. Adrian Hofmeyer. Some of them had sad stories to tell of the mistakes made at Stormberg, Colenso, Magersfontein, Tugela and Colesberg—some had been taken rescuing wounded men, and many had been wounded; some seemed quite happy and contented, whilst others showed signs of melancholia. It was indeed a despairing, hopeless kind of feeling, to know that this existence might go on for months, perhaps for years, and every keen soldier must have felt being out of the running.
I was joined here by my servant Faulkner, who when I was hit had been told to leave me, and had shared the fate of Colonel Moller's party. There had been much difficulty in getting hold of him, and it was only after a Cabinet Council meeting in the Volksraad that permission was given for him to be brought from the men's camp at Waterfall.
On my first Sunday I was much impressed with the service conducted by Adrian Hofmeyer; his extempore prayers and sermon were delivered with great feeling and eloquence. He had a robust voice, and used to play the organ and sing the first verse of the hymn to give us the tune, and then, having given us a start, he branched off into tunes of his own, so that with the farmers' bass of the majority, the part-singing of the few musical ones, and the fancy part-singing of old Hofmeyer, we kicked up a noise worthy of any cathedral. We used to finish up with the hymn for absent friends, as sung in Westminster Abbey, which left more than one damp eye, and a lump in many a throat.
The inhabitants seemed very anxious to have photographs of us, but when any kodak or other photographing fiend turned up, the alarm was given and everyone turned his back on the camera. One day a closed cab, with the window-blinds down, drove up, and came to a halt close to where a lot of fellows were standing leaning over the railings. Suddenly a peep-hole opened in the window of the carriage, and it was seen that there was a camera inside. Everyone turned round, and stones were thrown at the cab, which galloped off, having, I hoped, failed in its object.
One afternoon after lunch, about the end of February, I was lying on my bed reading a novel. The heat was excessive and the book very dull; sleep was upon me, and I was just dozing off, when I heard the rush which always took place when letters arrived, but having been so often disappointed at not getting letters, I did not bother. I was half asleep, and seemed to hear my name being called. It went on in a monotonous way, getting louder and louder, till at last I was awake, and it dawned on me that there were letters for me and my name really was being called. Over fifty letters came for me altogether, dating from Sept. 1899. I was indeed glad to have at last established communication with my people and many friends, and near as I had often been to them in my thoughts I was brought still nearer by this mail. We were sentimental in those days, and I was very much so that afternoon.
Our numbers increased as time went on. On February 25th there was a rush to the back door. More letters ? No, it was six new prisoners. The prison door opened, and in walked Dr. Gunning, leading the way, with his pipe in his month, followed by six men, all of different regiments, bearded and burnt, in dirty torn khaki; evidently they had had a rough time of it. They all looked smart, workmanlike fellows. How was it, one wondered, that smart fellows like these kept on being taken, while we never heard of any corresponding captures on the other side ?
These new arrivals looked puzzled at first at the sight of this wonderful collection of officers in odd clothes, and with beards and whiskers; but gradually friends recognised each other, and each of the new arrivals had a crowd round him, firing questions at him. What about Cronje? Kimberley ? Ladysmith ? and a hundred other queries. Most of these fellows seemed to know very little, for it is not the way in our army for subordinates to know too much. They are not like the wounded Boers who used to come into the hospital Each of those Boers was a bit of a general himself; he knew what was going on all over South Africa, and would give intelligent accounts of many battles, with his own comments on the strategy and tactics of each side. Thus our numbers were constantly increased, and thus we used to gather news of how things were going.
But we had another source of information which was the greatest godsend to us. How Patterson, of the telegraph department, used to come over daily with the latest confidential wires to Kruger, and how the Miss Cullingworths, who had learned to signal with a flag, used to signal the news from the back of their house to our signalling officer, the worthy Captain Burrowes, is a story too well known for me to go into fully. From this source, from about February 22nd, good news began to come. The relief of Kimberley, the surrounding of Cronje, the successful advance at Peter's, the chaos at Boer head-quarters,—all these were known to us and to Kruger alone, in Pretoria. Our spirits went up and the days seemed shorter.
Majuba Day was suitably celebrated at Paardeberg and on the Natal side, and it was also celebrated in Pretoria by the escape of Haldane, Le Messurier, and Brockie, for it was on that day that they were found to be missing. Many a time had I sat wondering how I could escape, and I was often so desperate that I would have attempted anything with a shade of a chance of success, but it had always seemed quite impossible. I could not conceive how these three had managed it I envied them and admired them, and no one could have been more astonished than I was when I heard what they had done.
On March 14th we saw Cullingworth and Patterson marching off to the front with rifle and bandolier. The Boers knew that we were getting the news, and suspecting these two, without being able to prove anything against them, sent them off on commando. We were getting too large a party for the Model School, and the authorities feared more escapes, so on March 16th we were moved to the place now known as the " Birdcage," which had been built to receive the Ladysmith garrison.
It was only at this time that we heard how Haldane and his party were still living under the floor at the Model School. The fact came out when others, proposing to escape in the same way (remaining underground when the rest were moved) magnanimously decided to forego their attempt in order that Haldane might have a better chance.
We were moved, beds, bag and baggage and all, through the town to our new abode, which was situated a mile outside to the north of the town. We drove up in cabs, escorted by all that were left in Pretoria in the shape of Burghers—the Boer " land-wehr," consisting of boys too young to manage their ponies and rifles together, and of very old men. The building was a long low draughty corrugated iron barn, with only one partition. It had a few small windows high up, and only a mud floor. It was a place more suitable for cattle than men. There was no shade to be had, and the sanitary arrangements were disgraceful. There was a dense wire entanglement all round, at some distance from the barn.
Our first step on arrival was to draw up a strongly-worded protest, which was signed by every officer, and forwarded at once to the authorities. Shutting 130 of us up in such a barn was quite bad enough for my taste, but how had they intended to get the whole Ladysmith garrison into the same place!
Our Government had refused to consider any exchange of prisoners, a decision which, though one regretted it, one felt to be very sound. At this time we were very sanguine, the Boers seemed to be collapsing, and we did not expect to be shut up more than another month.
After a day or two in the Bird-cage one began, to see some advantages in it. Here we were high up, had grand air, and a fine view with beautiful sunsets. I bought a large Japanese umbrella tent under which we used to sit and read. Here naturalists had leisure to study the ways of snakes, salamanders, bugs, locusts and butterflies, and the botan1st also had a limited field of research. There was a lot of rain about this time, making it damp muddy and uncomfortable inside the barn, with the result that there was a chorus of coughing and sneezing all day long, I, for one, owing to the draughts, never getting rid of my cold till I was released. It was a miserable place to feel seedy in; one could get no privacy, and one could not escape the whistling draughts that came through the badly-built building.
About March 25th the guard of Zarps was exchanged for one of Hollanders, most inoffensive looking foreigners, clerks, shopkeepers and the like, whose larger numbers made up by quantity that which was lacking in quality. Opperman and Dr. Gunning were dismissed for having let three prisoners escape, and their place was taken by a Hollander grocer, who was a sensible sort of fellow and civil enough. He found Opperman's office full of back letters for us, which he delivered, and of unposted letters, which he posted.
Having read in one of our letters disparaging remarks on the martial appearance of his commando, and on the improbability of his men being able to hit a haystack, the new Commandant started to drill his men, and sent them off to do a bit of musketry training with their old Martinis. They chose as a target a kopje at the back of our building, and all day long bullets came buzzing like locusts, flying harmlessly over our heads in the direction of Pretoria. Whether they learned to hit the kopje, or whether the people in the town protested, I do not know, but the musketry course came to an end after two days.
Their marksmanship was put to the test on April 5th when five of our number made a bid for freedom. At about 9.45 p.m., some clever electrician was to extinguish all the electric lights, inside and out. The lights did go out, and as they went out so did the desperadoes, each from a different door, and made straight for the wire entanglement Unfortunately, however, just as they started, something went wrong, and the electric lights flared up again, giving the whole thing away. Two or three shots were fired and the attempt failed. In the meantime the officers inside were in some anxiety. Some lay flat on the ground, and some put up hasty defences. I was in bed myself, so that this was my second experience during the war of being under fire in bed. Kentish, who was playing chess, said that one of the bullets came in and took the head off his queen!
April came to an end, and still the end of our captivity seemed no nearer. Perhaps we had been too sanguine. The advance seemed so slow to us, and the continued arrival of prisoners was not reassuring. A description of these latter days of April and the beginning of May, would be as depressing as the account of poor Dreyfus on his " He du Diable." The "hope deferred," the absence of news, the discomfort and the depression, the disappointed ambitions and the want of health, all made the time drag very heavily.
In May, however, we began to get better news. The advance on Bloemfontein seemed to be going well, the Boers seemed to be wavering, but still we had this anxiety—should we be besieged in Pretoria, or carried off into the mountains of Zoutpansberg or Leydenburg? On the 13th Hofmeyer was released, and we all turned out to see him off. As he drove away we gave him quite an ovation, for we should miss him, especially his Sunday services, and his translations each evening of the "Volkstein," a local paper which we were now allowed to take in.
On the Queen's birthday we had, after some discussion, got leave to send a telegram from ourselves and from the men at Waterfall to Her Majesty—and to celebrate the occasion we were for the first time allowed port wine! It was bad fiery port wine. I only took one glass (in a mug) and had a mouth like blotting paper next morning —one would do a great deal for the Queen! After drinking "the Queen" came "God save the Queen" which had been forbidden so long. We thundered it—every word, every letter, was sung with an emphasis and an impetus I had never heard before. A pent-up, stirring volume of loyalty, coming from 150 men. The room was barely big enough for 150 men, and it is a marvel to me how the roof stood such an explosion.
The Union Jack floated over Pretoria that day, for Haserick let loose a tame hawk with a Union Jack tied to its neck, and sent it hovering over the town.
On the 29th we had been hearing guns all day in the direction of Johannesburg. Rumours of our being moved kept us on tenterhooks all day.
The 6000 men at Waterfall, ten miles away, of whom we had never been able to get news, had, as we now heard, got out of hand on hearing the guns. The Boer authorities had tried to move them, but they had refused to move. Kruger had fled to Middelburg. Colonel Hunt warned the Boer authorities that if any men were shot the Boers would have to take serious consequences, and he offered to send officers to keep order, on condition they were not moved. It would have been a serious matter if 6000 men had broken loose and celebrated, perhaps with alcohol, this great occasion, in a town already in a state of chaos.
About 8.45 p.m. Hay, the American Consul, and Lee Wood came in while we were at dinner. Hay received an ovation as he came in. They sat down and had a glass of port and a smoke. It very soon transpired that the British were expected in the town next morning. The town was upside down. Irish, Americans and foreigners who had fought for the Boers, were looting and drinking and taking their payment in kind. Oom Paul had fled for Holland, and Hay was practically Governor of Pretoria. Then the Hollander Commandant entered, and amid cheers said that he expected the British in the town next day. He appealed to us as soldiers, not to make it difficult for him to do his duty until the time came for us to change places with him. Colonel Hunt said we all thanked him for what he had done to improve our circumstances as far as he could. We gave him three cheers— very hearty ones—for we were all ready to cheer anyone or anything. Then Colonel Hunt thanked Hay and Wood for all they had done for us, and we cheered them for all we were worth, singing " For he's a jolly good fellow." They each thanked us and were visibly pleased. Then came "God save the Queen." It was a record on the Queen's Birthday, but I think we just beat the record this time. We were sober enough, but drunk with joy and enthusiasm. I wish the good Queen could have heard us. It was a great night. I shall never forget it. Twenty-five officers left for Waterfall that night to join the men.
Friday, June 1st.—Two days ago we were on the point of being free. The Boers were in a panic; if only they had been followed up we should be free. But something seems to have gone wrong; rumours of a reverse, French killed, and all sorts of such-like inventions; everyone walking about very despondent to-day. If Bobs does not hurry up they will move us all up country, which would break my heart. But he will be here soon.
Sunday, June ltd.—This is a terrible long wait Botha, who is about the best man they have, has stayed the stampede, and collected 15000 Boers to face us. They are said to have taken up a position seven miles from here, and have sworn to die or win. They are cornered, or should be after this long wait, so they may make a stand; but the shells may alter their decision, which I think more likely. In any case it will probably be a lively time for us when the defeated rabble come our way.
Monday, June qtk.—This morning, at about 9 a.m., guns were heard quite close. We knew the Boers, 15000 strong, had taken up a position about six miles out, and it was said they had solemnly sworn to die or win. At 10 a. m. we saw a shell burst over the hill to the south, close to one of the forts. Then shrapnel after shrapnel was landed just over the fort and all along the crest line, about four miles away from us. Then some larger gun placed a lyddite close to the big fort, sending up an enormous column of red dust, and making a huge report. It was a grand sight. It went on all day, and we sat there in deck chairs watching. We could see very few Boers about About 3 p.m. we saw the balloon some fifteen miles off, I should think. Later in the afternoon the railway was shelled near the suburbs, and just before dark, away to the west, we saw clouds of dust, and what we took to be fleeing commandos. After such a day we all went to bed in excellent spirits. Our long depressing wait was very near its end, and we should now escape the terrible fate of being moved away to the east.
About i a.m. we were awakened by the commandant, who turned on the electric light and walked along the line of beds, saying, " Pack up, gentlemen; you have got to start at 3 p.m. and march six miles.,, " Why ?" " I don't know why; those are my orders." " Which direction ?" " To the railway, to the east."
Well, I knew what that meant at once, for I had expected the move for the last month, and many a very depressed hour had I spent thinking of the possibility of being carted about for six months in the cold—no food, no news, and every chance of being shot down. I lay in bed thinking what I should do ; what we ought all to do. Some got up at once, and dressed quite ready to move, saying they were only going to move us out of range of the firing. But Colonel Hunt luckily was not of that opinion, and nearly everyone felt what it meant. We knew nothing for certain, but we thought our people were only six miles off. Outside the Hollander guard had been trebled—about two hundred—and there were about twenty armed and mounted Boers. It was soon agreed that no one should move unless a rifle was pointed at his head. The Hollanders are only half-hearted, and the Boers don't act without leaders. So the commandant and sub-commandant, who were alone inside, and only armed with revolvers, were made prisoners. They were told that we refused to move, that they would have to shoot, and that if they did shoot, everyone of them would be hung by Bobs, who, we knew, was only seven miles off.
Well, the Hollander commandant was talked round, and fairly bluffed. He undertook not to move us, and to become a prisoner of the Boers if they insisted. He went out and had a talk with the Boer commandant; they had words, and the Boers galloped off to the town, calling him " a-Hollander," and saying they would have to get a maxim. We had delayed the thing, anyway for a time, and the railway might be cut any time by French.
It was frightfully cold; I did not turn in again. Many went and hid in the roof, in ditches, and all sorts of places, where they were bound to be found. I got a bread knife and cut a hole in the rabbit wire, which was only a small part of the obstacle, and asked the Hollander sentry to look the other way if I tried to get out when the commando came. But there were so many of them that one was afraid of the other. He only hesitated and said he would see. We waited on till daylight, and no one came. We looked anxiously at the hills all round in hopes of seeing our troops on the hills, but could see nothing. We waited and watched anxiously, and thought we should have a day of suspense.
Tuesday, June $th. — About 8 a.m. large bodies of men were visible to the west, about seven miles off, but it was impossible to say whether they were our men or Boers. Even if they were our men it was possible that we should be hustled off under their noses. About 9 a.m., two men in felt hats and khaki with a civilian galloped up. Even till they were a hundred yards off I feared they might be Boers. Then they took off their hats and waved them. There was a yell, and we all rushed through the gate. They were Marlborough and Winston Churchill, and we were free! We jolly soon had the Boer flag down, and the soldier servants, armed, on sentry over the Hollanders inside as prisoners. A Union Jack, made by one of our fellows for the great moment, was hoisted. Majendie and I tore down the hill into the town, running and yelling. It was a grand feeling being free again. When we got into the town we found British sentries over all the Government buildings, Kruger's house, and all the banks, &c.
It would have been rather a shock to anyone accustomed to seeing the smart guardsman on sentry in Pall Mall to have seen him in the square at Pretoria, with his beard, dirty clothes, worn khaki, and battered helmet, with a toothbrush, spoon, or some such useful article taking the place in his helmet of the ornamental plume in his busby, a loaf of bread, a cooking-pot, and many other necessaries not laid down in the regulations as part of his equipment.
It was about 10.30 when we got into the town, and Bobs was not timed to arrive before two. So we looked round the place till then, watching the various troops coming in and posting sentries over the public-houses, banks, hotels, &c. They all looked most business-like and fit, sunburnt and covered with dirt and dust I lunched with Nugent, Colonel Hunt, and others, the first decent lunch for ages—clean table-cloths, glasses, plates, &c, all very much appreciated. We were waited on by one of our late guards, a German waiter!
By 2 p.m. all the prisoners of war were drawn up in the square, where we got a good view of the proceedings. I will not go into them, as the papers at home have no doubt given full details. It was a grand moment when the Union Jack went up, with Lord Roberts and Kitchener sitting on their horses at the salute. The troops marched past, not all of them, but quite enough to make an impression. They looked most serviceable, though some of them must have been very nearly done - up. Though these fellows have had no fighting compared to the Natal troops, they have had very hard work, and the cold nights and short rations must have found out the invalids long ago. I was jealous of the Mounted Infantry when I saw them, and I felt that the entry into Pretoria was quite incomplete without a Rifle regiment being there. But still the sense of being free again drowned all other feelings. The Woolley-Dods found me out, and have been putting me up since then. I have not time to go into raptures over their hospitality and kindness, and the joys of having a room to one's self and a hot bath, and lots of other comforts. They have been kindness itself.
On June 6th Lord Roberts saw all the released officers. We formed up in a long line in front of his house. Having lost all my uniform, I had to appear in flannels, with a muffler and a slouch hat. Lord Roberts had a word for everyone, and especially for those who had been captured on his side of the country, seeming to remember all the circumstances.