Ladysmith Part 14

The civilian Indians and Kaffirs number 150 and 300 respectively, and draw their rations at the station, the organisation being under Major Thompson, A.C.G., as is the whole of the milk supply, now set aside for the sick. The Indian ration is atta, 4 oz.; rice, 3 oz.; mealie meal, 9 oz.; salt, 1/2 oz.; goor, 1-1/4 oz.; amchur, 1/4 oz. And those who will eat meat get 8 oz. twice a week instead of mealies. The Kaffir ration is simpler: fresh meat, 1 lb.; mealie meal, 3/4 lb.; salt, 1/2 oz.

_February 1, 1900._

How we should have laughed in November at the thought of being shut up here till February? But here we are, and the outlook grows more hopeless. People are miserably depressed. It would be impossible to get up sports or concerts now. Too many are sick, too many dead. The laughter has gone out of the siege, or remains only as bitter laughter when the word relief is spoken. We are allowed to know nothing for certain, but the conviction grows that we are to be left to our fate for another three weeks at least, while the men slowly rot. A Natal paper has come in with an account of Buller's defeat at Taba Nyama on the 25th. We read with astonishment the loud praises of a masterly retreat over the Tugela without the loss of a single man. When shall we hear of a masterly advance to our aid? Do we lose no men?

To-day the morning was cold and cloudy, as it has been since Monday, but the sun broke out for an hour or two, in the afternoon, and official messages could be sent through by heliograph. For information and relief we received the following words, and those only:--

"German specialist landed Delagoa Bay pledges himself to dam up Klip River and flood Ladysmith out."

That was all they deigned to tell us.

_February 2, 1900._

After a misty dawn, soaked with minute rain, the sky slowly cleared at last, letting the merry sunshine through. At once the heliograph began to flash. I sent off a brief message, and soon afterwards the signal "Line clear" was sent from Zwartz Kop over the Tugela. The "officials"

began to arrive, and we hoped for news at last. Three or four messages came through, but who could have guessed the thrilling importance of the first? It ran:--

"Sir Stafford Northcote, Governor of Bombay, has been made a peer."

The other messages were vague and dull enough--something about the Prince of Wales reviewing Yeomanry, and the race for some hunt cup in India. But that peerage! To a sick and hungry garrison!

We were shot at rather briskly all day by the enemy's guns. The groups of wandering horses were a tempting aim. The poor creatures still try to get back to their lines, and some of them stand there motionless all day, rather than seek gra.s.s upon the hills. The cavalry have made barbed-wire pens, and collect most of them at night. But many are lost, some stolen, and more die of starvation and neglect. An increasing number are killed for rations, and to-day twenty-eight were specially shot for the chevril factory. I visited the place this afternoon. The long engine-shed at the station has been turned to use. Only one engine remains inside, and that is used as a "bomb-proof," under which all hands run when the sh.e.l.ling is heavy. Into other engine-pits cauldrons have been sunk, constructed of iron trolleys without their wheels, and plastered round with clay. A wood fire is laid along under the cauldrons, on the same principle as in a camp kitchen. The horseflesh is brought up to the station in huge red halves of beast, run into the shed on trucks, cut up by the Kaffirs, who also pound the bones, thrown into the boiling cauldron, and so--"Farewell, my Arab steed!"

There is not enough hydrochloric or pepsine left in the town to make a true extract of horse, but by boiling and evaporation the strength is raised till every pint issued will make three pints of soup. A punkah is to be fitted to make the evaporation more rapid, and perhaps my horse will ultimately appear as a jelly or a lozenge. But at present the stuff is nothing but a strong kind of soup, and at the first issue to-day the men had to carry it in the ordinary camp-kettles.

Every man in the garrison to-night receives a pint of horse essence hot.

I tasted it in the cauldron, straight from the horse, and found it so sustaining that I haven't eaten anything since. The dainty Kaffirs and Colonial Volunteers refuse to eat horse in any form. But the sensible British soldier takes to it like a vulture, and begs for the lumps of stewed flesh from which the soup has been made. With the joke, "Mind that stuff; it kicks!" he carries it away, and gets a chance, as he says, of filling--well, we know what he says. The extract has a registered label:--

[Ill.u.s.tration: Superior Ladysmith

CHEVRIL

RESURGAM

Trade Mark

"The Iron Horse"]

Under the signature of Aduncus Bea and Co. acute signallers will recognise the official t.i.tle of Colonel Ward.

Since the beginning of the siege one of the saddest sights has been the Boer prisoners lounging away their days on the upper gallery of the gaol. They have been there since Elands Laagte, nearly four months now, with no news, nothing to do, and nothing to see except one little bit of road visible over the wall.

The solitude has so unnerved them that when the sh.e.l.ls fall near the gaol or whiz over the roof the prisoners are said to howl and scream. On visiting them to-day I found that only seven real prisoners of war are left here, the others being suspects or possible traitors, arrested on suspicion of signalling or sending messages to the enemy. Among them is the French deserter I mentioned weeks ago. The little man is much reduced in girth, and terribly lonely among the Dutch, but he appears to grow no wiser for solitude and low living.

Among the twenty-three suspects it was pleasant to see one new arrival who has been the curse of the town since the beginning of the siege, when he went about telling the terrified women and children that if they were not blown to bits by the sh.e.l.ls the Boers would soon get them. So he has gone on ever since, till to-day Colonel Park, of the Devons, had him arrested for the military offence of "causing despondency." He had kept asking the Devons when they were going to run away, and how they would like the walk to Pretoria when Ladysmith surrendered. There are about thirty Kaffirs also in the prison, chiefly thieves, but some suspects. They are kept in the women's quarters, for the kind of woman who fills Kaffir gaols has lifted up her blankets and gone to Maritzburg or Intombi Camp.

CHAPTER XX

SUN AND FEVER

_February 3, 1900._

The day was fairly quiet. Old "Bulwan Billy" did not fire at us at all, and there was no movement in the distant Boer camps, though the universal belief is that the enemy is concentrating round Ladysmith for a fresh attack.

In the evening the rations were issued to the civilians under Major Thompson's new regulations in the Market House. Each child, or whoever else is sent, now brings his ticket; it is verified at a table, the cost is added daily to each account, the child is sent on down the shed to draw his allowance of tea and sugar, his loaf, and bit of horse. The organisation is admirable, but one feels it comes a little late in the day. The same is true of the new biscuit tins which are to be put up as letter-boxes about the camp for a local post, and of the new plan of making sandals for the men out of flaps of saddles and the buckets for cavalry carbines. For a fortnight past, 120 of the Manchesters have gone barefoot among the rocks.

_Sunday, February 4, 1900._

The sun shone. Women and children went up and down the street. I even saw two white-petticoated girls climbing the rocks of Cove Redoubt to get a peep at "Princess Victoria"--otherwise "b.l.o.o.d.y Mary." It was a day of peace, but every one believes it to be the last. To-night an attack is confidently expected. The Boers are concentrating on the north-west.

A new gun was seen yesterday moving towards Thornhill's Kopje, and sounds of building with stones were heard there last night. It is thought the attack will be upon the line from Observation Hill to Range Post. Every available man is warned. Even the military prisoners are released and sent on duty again. The pickets are doubled and pushed far out. A code of signals by rocket has been arranged to inform Buller of what is going on. It is felt that this is the enemy's last chance of doing so big a thing as capturing this garrison.

But all that is still uncertain, and in the quiet afternoon I harnessed up my cart for a gentle drive with Sergeant-Gunner Boseley, of the 53rd Battery. He is a red Irishman, born at Maidstone, and has done eleven years' service. During the attack on the 6th he was sitting beside his gun waiting for Major Abdy's word to fire in his turn, when a 96lb.

sh.e.l.l from "Bulwan" struck him in its flight, and shattered his left arm and leg. He says he was knocked silly, and felt a bit fluttered, but had no pain till they lifted him into the dhoolie. He broke the record, I believe, by surviving a double amputation on the same side, which left him only about 6 in. of thigh and 4 in. of arm. For every movement he is helpless as a log. Four of us hoisted him into the cart, and then we drove round to see his old battery, where the greetings of his mates were brief, emphatic, and devoid of all romance. We then went up to the tin camp, and round the main positions, which he regarded with silent equanimity. I thought he was bored by the familiar scene, but at the end he told me he had enjoyed it immensely, never having seen Ladysmith by daylight before! The man is now in magnificent health, rosy as a rose, and no doubt has a great career before him as a wonder from the war.

_February 5, 1900._

The noise of guns boomed all day from the Tugela. It sounded as though a battle was raging along miles of its banks, from Colenso right away west to Potgieter's Drift. I could see big sh.e.l.ls bursting again on Taba Nyama and the low nek above the ford. Further to the left they were bursting around Monger's Hill, nearly half-way along the bank to Colenso. From early morning the fire increased in intensity, reaching its height between 3 and 4 p.m. At half-past four the firing suddenly slackened and stopped. That seems like victory, but we can only hope.

_February 6, 1900._

Firing was again continuous nearly all day along the Tugela, except that there appeared to be a pause of some hours before and after midday. The distance was hazy, and light was bad. The heliograph below refused to take or send messages, and we had no definite news. But at night it was confidently believed that relief was some miles nearer than in the morning. For myself, the sun and fever had hold of me, and I could only stand on Observation Hill and watch the far-off bursting of sh.e.l.ls and the flash of a great gun which the Boers have placed in a mountain niche upon the horizon to our left of Monger's Hill, overlooking the Tugela. Sickness brought despondency, and I seemed only to see our countrymen throwing away their lives in vain against the defences of a gallant people fighting for their liberty.

One cannot help noticing the notable change of feeling towards the enemy which the war has brought. The Boers, instead of being spoken of as "ignorant brutes" and "cowards" have become "splendid fellows,"

admirable alike for strategy and courage. The hangers-on of Johannesburg capitalism have to keep their abusive contempt to themselves now, but happily only one or two of them have cared to remain in the beleaguered town.

At a mess where I was to-night, all the officers but one agreed there was not much glory in this war for the British soldier. It would only be remembered as the fine struggle of an untrained people for their liberty against an overwhelming power. The defence of the Tyrol against Ney was quoted as a parallel. The Colonel, it is true, pathetically anxious to justify everything to his mind and conscience, and trying to hate the enemy he was fighting, stuck to his patriotic protests; but he was alone, and the conversation was significant of a very general change.

Not that this prevents any one from longing for Buller's victory and our relief, though the field were covered with the dead defenders of their freedom.

_February 7, 1900._

We have now but one thought--is it possible for Buller to force his way across that line of hills overlooking the Tugela? The nearest summits are not more than ten miles away. We could ride out there in little more than an hour and join hands with our countrymen and the big world outside. Yet the barrier remains unbroken. Firing continued nearly all day, except in the extreme heat of afternoon. We could watch the columns of smoke thrown up by the Boers' great gun, still fixed above that niche upon the horizon. The Dutch camps were unmoved, and at the extremity of the Long Valley a large new camp with tents and a few waggons appeared and increased during the day. Some thought it was a hospital camp, but it was more likely due to a general concentration in the centre. Here and there we could see great sh.e.l.ls bursting, and even shrapnel. The sound of rifles and "pom-poms" was often reported. Yet I could not see any real proof of advance. Perhaps fever and sun blind me to hope, for the staff are very confident still. They even lay odds on a celebration of victory next Sunday by the united forces, and I hear that Sir George is practising the Hundredth Psalm.

_February 8 to February 24, 1900._

I had hoped to keep well all through the siege, so as to see it all from start to finish. But now over a fortnight has been lost while I have been lying in hospital, suffering all the tortures of Montjuich, "A touch of sun," people called it, combined with some impalpable kind of malaria. On the 8th I struggled up Caesar's Camp again, and saw parties of Boers burning all the veldt beyond Limit Hill, apparently to prevent us watching the movements of the trains at their railhead. On the 9th I could not stand, and the bearers, with their peculiar little chant, to keep them out of step, brought me down to the Congregational Chapel in a dhoolie. There I still lie. The Hindoo sweepers creep about, raising a continual dust; they fan me sleepily for hours together with a look of impenetrable vacancy, and at night they curl themselves on the ground outside and cough their souls away. The English orderlies stamp and shout, displaying the greatest goodwill and a knowledge of the nervous system acquired in cavalry barracks. Far away we hear the sound of Buller's guns. I did not know it was possible to suffer such atrocious and continuous pain without losing consciousness.

Of course we have none of the proper remedies for sunstroke--no ice, no soda-water, and so little milk that it has to be rationed out almost by the teaspoonful. Now that the fever has begun to subside I can only hope for a tiny ration of tea, a brown compound called rice pudding, flavoured with the immemorial dust of Indian temples, and a beef-tea which neighs in the throat. That is the worst of the condition of the sick now; when they begin to mend it is almost impossible to get them well. There is nothing to give them. At Intombi, I believe it is even worse than here. The letters I have lately seen from officers recovering from wounds or dysentery or enteric are simply heart-rending in their appeals.