TOPIC:

I believe the other two actions mentioned in his records are "Ottoshoop" and "Zeerust". These South African towns are mentioned in With Pagent's Horse to the Front
(published 1901).

Extracted form The Sphere of 10 January 1900



Were slouch hats not good enough for the sons of gentlemen?

Ottoshoop [or Malmami], Transvaal, gets a few mentions in "The Cossack Post. Journal of B Squadron, Paget's Horse" (pp. 177-187).

Ottoshoop, Transvaal, August 1st, 1900.
From Mafeking we marched to Lichtenberg, were joined by the Bushmen and a Battery of Artillery, and, with two companies of the Munster Fusiliers, who had been garrisoning the place, marched out under Lord Erroll, after burning the Government Stores to save them falling into the hands of the Boers.

Ottoshoop, September 1st, 1900.
We have been spending the last three weeks running up and down this part of the country, and, we earnestly hope, doing a great deal of good. One night we went out to relieve a picket of the Victorian Bushmen, and found ourselves in for a pretty hot thing, which helped us to realise the weight of metal it takes to kill a man, or even wound him. During this period, too, our rations for some time got down to a biscuit and a quarter per day, not very sumptuous living.
We also were visited by a tropical thunderstorm, which it is hopeless to attempt to describe. It came to us from Mafeking, where it did more damage than the Boers ever accomplished in the siege. The lightning flashes were so vivid and frequent that one could have read a three-volume novel comfortably by them during the night. The hail-stones were as large as – well, we know how large they were! It also rained. Of course, we were flooded out in about ten minutes, the horses broke loose under the hail and thunder and rushed over us where we lay. Next morning dawn broke and saw saddles, arms, equipment and kit broken up and lying, for the most part, inches deep under the mud and water. At 5.30 a.m. two squadrons had to be saddled up and ready to start for Louw's Farm. We did it, somehow, and had quite an enjoyable little “scrap”, in which a pom-pom rendered us very valuable assistance.

Ottoshoop, October 20th, 1900.
Here we are, back in this detestable hole of filth, dust-storms, and blistering sun. Methuen and Erroll are here, also the Bushmen and other Colonials. We may leave at any time to go anywhere. The other day we went out with Methuen, acting in conjunction with Douglas, and had a good-sized fight not far from here. We shelled the Boers with guns and pom-poms, and Douglas blasted the landscape to pieces with lyddite, but without much apparent result. There are several Boers on a kopje close by, and they keep us fairly busy.

Ottoshoop, December 29th, 1900.
We have collected here again from various places – some from Louw's Farm, some from Zeerust, and some from Methuen's Column, which has been operating in the Lichtenberg district. We are enjoying the luxury of tents, which we have not had since we left Belmont, in May last, and a canteen (of sorts) which has been imported from Mafeking.
But we hear that Ottoshoop is to be evacuated, and we are to leave for Lichtenberg to-morrow, where we shall be for an indefinite period.

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Trooper Cosmo Rose-Innes has this to say of Ottoshoop/Malmami:

Malmami, or Ottoshoop, is a Transvaal border village lying upon one of the Plain roads between Mafeking and Pretoria. Not far distant, on the Zeerust road, is, or rather was, one of Louis Botha's farms and another handsome place, the property of General Lemmer; while towards Lichtenberg, in the other direction, General Delarey has a great mansion and estate. Among the kopjes which abound in this district, some rising to the height almost of mountains, there were, when we encamped there in July (and there still are in January), large parties of Boers, and often Lemmer or Delarey with an important commando; and day after day one or other of our companies would receive sudden orders to saddle up to engage some detachment of the enemy or break up a small encampment. It is the greatest mistake in the world to suppose that the danger of an enterprise is necessarily in proportion to its newspaper prominence. A war correspondent chronicles, of course, only the moves made by the General when proceeding to engage a main body of the enemy. The daily skirmishes of small troops and the risk of individual sniping pass, as of course they must, quite unnoticed. Yet it is possible, and constantly happens, that whole troops actually present at a "general" engagement never fire their rifles or hear even the whistle of a bullet. They may be all day mere passive spectators listening to the boom of the big guns and the scream of distant shells, but themselves only impatiently fretting for orders to move, which may never come. I recollect one general engagement just outside Malmami, where Sir Frederick Carrington and Lord Errol commanded. We galloped about from place to place the whole morning without firing a shot, although all round us our guns and pom-poms were throwing a continuous stream of shells, and we could hear the rifles crack-cracking from the opposite kopjes. We were not, I think, under actual fire altogether for more than an hour, although the engagement itself lasted all day. Unless one be in the actual thick of it at the firing line, the comparatively insignificant skirmishes of which I speak, are very often more exciting than a big fight. The trooper is left more to himself, and, if scouting, is quite "on his own" and can make his own opportunities, and many a lively time can be had exchanging shots with the enemy, who, however, will never attempt close quarters unless in overwhelming numbers. When he is in overwhelming numbers the trooper becomes diffident as to the right to have an engagement all to himself and usually makes for his troop. Day after day at Malmami we carried on a detailed warfare of this kind, and the routine of camp and even of guard was never irksome, when at any moment of the day or night there might be a call to arms. Surrounded as we were on all sides by parties of Boers, it is needless to say that the lookout was very strict indeed. A soldier is supposed, if possible, to have at least three consecutive nights' rest, but at this time our turns for night guard came several nights a week and often several nights in succession. There were guards, too, on which one might not for a moment relax his vigilance, for on that vigilance depended the safety of the sleeping camp.

(With Paget's Horse to the Front, pp. 116-119)

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A description of the movements of Paget's Horse at Elands River ("With Paget's Horse to the Front", Cosmo Rose-Innes, 1901, pp. 131-146)

As we neared Elands River the kopjes rose higher and higher on either hand, and in front, where the Boers lay, the landscape presented the appearance of a mountain fastness. We had with us a long convoy of food, forage, and ammunition waggons, which followed the road – here a main line of communication – while the troops scoured the country to right and left. Our friends the enemy must have taken the range with great accuracy, for, as we drew near, the first shell they threw fell plump in the middle of the convoy. One would suppose that a shell bursting at close quarters must necessarily kill, but this is by no means the case. This particular shell raised a great cloud of sand, sent the nigger drivers scurrying in all directions, and wounded a few mules; but beyond this did no damage. Many a shell exploded prematurely, because the fuse was not well set, and many – at any rate, many Boer shells – did not explode at all on striking soft earth, because they were badly made. The fact is, that except when bursting among rock and scattering splintered stone, a shell is far more useful for its moral, than for its physical effect. It gets distinctly on the nerves. I have seen a man bounced out of his saddle by the concussion of an explosion, and yet remount smiling, absolutely unhurt. But once let a body of men be persuaded that a big gun has got their range, and that the little white puff of smoke will inevitably be followed by a scatter of shrapnel, and it is difficult indeed to get them to hold their ground. The first shot we threw at Elands River was fired at the face of an apparently unoccupied kopje. No sooner had it fallen than the place was alive with Boers scampering in every direction for better cover. It was very comic to see them, just like a lot of rabbits in a warren when a gun is fired. One does not, of course, see anything like all that happens in an engagement. As for our own company, at one moment we were dashing to the foot of a high kopje, when an orderly from the general rode furiously after us to command an instant return. We were riding to probable annihilation, for the kopje was occupied by the enemy, and was steep and high, and, in the face of fire, impossible to climb. The deliberate methods of the Boer who, as a defending force, has all the advantage and plays the waiting game, is well illustrated by an incident of the same morning's fight. After our return from the kopje, we were ordered some distance to the right to cover a stretch of low-lying ground, through which the enemy might pass and get our force in the rear. We halted and dismounted, and for about an hour lay on the ground resting, with the bridle passed over the arm while the horses browsed quietly, and every now and then an invisible something would scream overhead.

Then we advanced some distance, which brought us to within about nine hundred yards of a kopje which formed part of the range among which the Boers were entrenched. Our sergeant pointed out to the lieutenant that we should like to "rush" the kopje, but that, remaining where we were, there was nothing to prevent us being stalked from the high ground. Either the lieutenant could not act upon his own initiative or was too diffident to do so. We were ordered to dismount, and again for more than an hour we lay about and even dozed off to sleep, for the sun was very hot, and there had been little rest on the march. Of course, we were in open order – that is, not massed together, but with a distance of about twenty yards between each horsemen. Then came orders: "Prepare to mount - Mount! Company about turn!" We had mounted leisurely and we turned leisurely about, but no sooner did it become obvious that we were not going to advance nearer to the kopje, than the Boers opened fire. They had been patiently waiting there all the time until we should approach so near that they would be on a sure thing and "pot" every man jack. We had but a few hundred yards to ride to shelter, and as we cantered – we really did canter, not gallop, – perhaps because the general was looking – the bullets spat, spat, spat in the sand between the horses, but not one of us was touched. The range was perfectly judged, for the shot fell at the horses' hoofs, but the Boer marksmanship must, I think, have been much overrated in the early days of the War. The idea that these men – cunning shots at game – never waste their powder, but bring the quarry down with every shot, may be correct enough; for, in fact, it requires but little skill to stalk and kill a buck, while to hit a moving horseman at about a thousand yards is a very different feat. A horse takes no notice of the music of a Mauser singing overhead, nor of the scream of shell, or even the repeated boom of a pom-pom gun at close quarters, but the "phit" of a bullet close to his hoofs makes him swerve. He seems to have an idea that somehow or other, there is something dangerous about that, and is not far out. One cannot help being sorry for the horses. No poet celebrates their courage in deathless verse, no bright eyes are dimmed when they go forth to war, or smile a welcome at their safe return. Poor brutes, they are stricken down upon the field, and their highest hope is then for the merciful bullet which puts them out of pain and leaves for the vultures and jackals only a senseless corpse. They are foul, sickening birds these vultures, huge in size; and gorged, with blood and entrails, they will sulkily leave a carcase for a few moments until a rider has passed, only to return at once to their filthy feast.

We did not relieve Colonel Hoare. Why, I do not know. A retreat was ordered, and the whole column began to retire. It seemed likely that we might be cut off, so the guns were run to the top of a kopje which commanded the surrounding country, and from this we could see a large body of the enemy riding, as the Boers always do, in very open order and without formation, in the direction of the camp which we had left. Those guns stopped the ride. There is something strangely imposing in the gallop of big guns. It may be, I do not know that it is, but I think some of our deepest emotions are stirred by the coarse physical phenomena, size and sound, danger and depth, – the frowning height of sheer crags, the crash of thunder, huge seas shivering the ship, and the black fathomless depths of an Alpine crevasse. Sweet music lulls the nerves and martial music stirs the pulse; rich colours, bright landscapes and the perfume of flowers soothe the senses; but the thunder of horses' hoofs, the rattle of heavy harness, the great brutes straining every nerve as the intrepid riders urge them on in a wild career, the long bright steel gun and limber bounding behind like a featherweight, and leaping from rock to rock, leave little in the nature of delirious excitement to be equalled or desired.

At sundown we reached the camp which we had left in the morning. The ride had been a rapid one, and some suspicion that an intended advance had been abandoned crossed our minds. It must have been exasperating for the general and his staff. We cantered into Wonderfontein to a loud and ingenious parody: "Then we began to bunk a little bit, bunk a little bit, just a little bit". Those who know the classic air "What O, she bumps!" will appreciate how excellently it would accompany a military ride. That night we explained the retreat in various ways. Some ingenious euphemist suggested that the advance was merely a reconnaissance in force. This captivated us at once. It had a distinctly martial ring and soothed our suspicions and wounded pride. Of course, what we had done was – drawn the enemy's fire, ascertained his position and numbers, and having effected this were falling back upon our base in orderly and projected retreat. Some of the men certainly would persist in calling it a recognisance in force, which suggested a police court rather than a camp, but their intentions were good though their accent was bad. French is not a strong point even among educated Englishmen.

There was an orange grove at Wonderfontein, and on the next morning while roaming through this, – quite an unlicensed proceeding, for no one is supposed to leave the lines, – came a sudden order, "Saddle-up". Within half-an-hour we were galloping through the open, under a heavy fire from the neighbouring kopje. The Boers had slipped round behind us in the night and were cutting us off from Zeerust, Malmami, and Mafeking. We galloped, guns and all, hell for leather, and then came the job of clearing the way. The Boers had taken up a position, on rising ground covered with very tall grass. Upon receiving the order: "With carbines prepare to dismount – dismount!" those who ride numbers one, two, and four when formed in a column of fours, pass the bridoon or snaffle rein to the man who rides number three, in such a way that he can, while remaining mounted, control his own and lead the other three horses. When this has been done the three dismounted men advance as ordered, while it is the duty of the sergeant-major to keep the horses in safety, but following as near as may be to the troop to which they belong. We dismounted, the horses were led away and we advanced. In the long grass a few yards ahead moving figures were discernible. It was just as likely as not they were the enemy, as we knew they were hidden in this cover. Fortunately, we did not fire. It is rash beyond measure to fire until one is perfectly certain, for, strange as it may seem, mistakes are frequent, most easy of commission, and quite excusable. I do not mean that mistakes resulting in firing on one's friends are frequent, for one very soon learns caution, but errors in supposing distant bodies to be the enemy or his spies when, in fact, they are part of one's own column or enterprising flankers or scouts are not infrequent.

An incident came under my notice during this very retreat, which shows how easily a fatality may happen. Two sentries were posted just before daybreak to relieve a small night guard. The Boers were close on us and expected at any moment.

The officers were riding round and collecting the relieved outposts. It was just getting light, and one of the sentries took the field-glasses and went away some distance to prospect. Presently a body of about eight men came riding up; with their slouched hats, in the dim light they might very well have been Boers. "Halt!" shouted the sentry. "Who comes there?" No answer. The sentry challenged quickly three times, called to his comrade, and shot the bolt of the rifle, driving a cartridge into the breach. The clang-clang of the bolt woke the leader up. "Friends", he called. "Then why in the name of the devil didn't you answer before", said the sentry furiously. " I d----d near fired on you!" The leader was a Captain of a Colonial corps. With the best possible taste, he uttered no word of resentment to the enraged trooper, he merely ascertained that his men had already been relieved and passed on.

Mais revenons, etc., Elands River. The moving figures were another company of our men. We came up with these, and shortly after the Mausers were merrily singing over our heads. It was impossible to say whence the firing came, and impossible to know what was the objective. It was not we, for every bullet passed high, so no doubt they were directed at some more distant troops. We were halted now, and lay wide apart invisible to each other and completely hidden in the long grass. We all had our haversacks full of oranges, and when we met a few hours after to remount we found that each had spent his hour of leisure consuming the fruit. It is not wise to eat oranges to quench a serious thirst, the sweet juice is delicious at the moment, but only aggravates the craving which one seeks to allay; a little lime juice in water, not the cordial, but raw, acrid lime juice, is infinitely superior. After lying for about an hour we again advanced, and then the fire was most undoubtedly directed upon us.

To this day I have never determined to my own satisfaction whether the sharp constant crack-crack close at hand was the report of the Mauser rifle or that of explosive bullets. My comrades assert that it was the latter; if so, they were very extensively used that day. The Boers could have been but a few yards away, but we could not see them and they could not, I think, have seen us, the grass was so tall. We knew about where they were and fired accordingly; they knew about where we were and put in their shot very thick. Until one has had some experience and reflected, it seems a useless waste of ammunition to fire at an unseen object, and many, in fact, never "loosed" off their rifles in the first few engagements; but the fact is, that once get the range of the enemy's position and pour in a heavy fire, and, to put it vulgarly, you "establish a funk". However good his cover, he can't bear to hear the bullets spit all round and sing close to his ears, and rather than put up with it he retires. That is what the Boers did that morning. They left the kopje in the possession of Paget's Horse. We had no serious casualties. The major was wounded, but not very badly; one man was struck in the hand, and the cheek of another was scarred by a bullet. Other contingents with the column were not so fortunate. I saw several as we passed by the roadside with the blood oozing through their bandages, and the doctors bending over with anxious care; but a little custom, and these sights make practically no impression. We reached Zeerust very late at night, hearing, to our great disgust, en route, that the Boers had captured a convoy carrying a quantity of letters. Next morning at daybreak we were in the saddle again, and on the road to Ottoshoop. It had been plundered since we left, for, though a Boer town, it is only just over the border, and many of the traders are loyal, or rather British in interest and sympathy. Besides, the Boer in arms is no respecter of persons. This retreat from Elands River had a very disastrous effect. True, Colonel Hoare was shortly afterwards relieved, but the Boer commando followed our column, and for over a week at Mafeking, where we finally camped, there was serious talk of them "rushing" the town.


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