Early in 1899 I travelled with the late Lord Clarendon, who was at that time Lord Chamberlain, to Coburg, to represent the Prince of Wales at the Silver Wedding of his brother, the Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, Lord Clarendon having been selected by Queen Victoria for a similar purpose. We spent about a week there, at the Castle, while the fêtes connected with that anniversary were in progress. It was a great pleasure to me to have this opportunity of seeing their Royal Highnesses, who had been so kind to me when on the Mediterranean Station, and talk over our mutual recollections of the numerous cruises of the old Surprise. The night we arrived we were both invited to dine with the Royal Family, and extremely pleasant it was; but for the rest of the time there were endless Court functions and banquets, and I found living in a small German Court, cheek by jowl with the German Court officials, one of the most disagreeable experiences that I can recollect. However, by pleading that I had acquaintances in the town,—which was not strictly true,—I managed to escape from most of the dreary household luncheons, finding it infinitely preferable to eat by myself at the extremely moderate[229] hotel that was all the town of Coburg could boast of in the shape of a restaurant. Under these circumstances, it was eminently true that the “dinner of herbs” at that very bad inn was better than the “stalled ox” at the Schloss. But soon more interesting events were to take place, for before the end of the year the South African War had begun. After what was known then as the “black week,” when, in the course of a few days, the British public received news of three very distinct reverses, I came to the conclusion that it was impossible for a man of my age to remain in England if by hook or by crook he could possibly manage to get out to Africa. The only plan I could think of was to try to get there on the Staff, as Naval Aide-de-Camp, on the plea that there was a considerable Naval Brigade being formed to work a battery of 4·7 guns to emulate what had already been achieved by their comrades in Natal. I applied to the Prince for aid, and, as usual, not in vain, for, when Field-Marshal Lord Roberts was appointed to be Commander-in-Chief in South Africa, through His Royal Highness’ kind offices the Field-Marshal allowed me to be appointed as Naval Aide-de-Camp on the Headquarter Staff. As it turned out, my duties consisted in doing pretty much the same work as the other Aides-de-Camp, the bulk of which was deciphering and enciphering telegrams; for though when on the march I kept as much in touch with what was called the “Cow-Gun Brigade” (the name being, of course, derived from the team of eighteen bullocks that dragged the guns along), I never could discover that they were[230] in want of anything except ammunition, the fact being, I suppose, that if any particular article was lacking they immediately proceeded to try to annex it, and in general they succeeded, much to the delight of the Quarter-Master-General, who told me that they formed the only unit that never gave him any trouble.
Apropos of the “black week,” long after I had returned from South Africa, one of Queen Victoria’s gentlemen told me an interesting story on the subject. When the bad news arrived, Queen Victoria,—though she had much too fine, and well-trained a sense of proportion to feel in the least nervous,—thought that nevertheless she would like to consult some Military Authority who had a knowledge of South Africa. Accordingly, the late Sir Evelyn Wood was summoned to Balmoral. When he presented himself he was addressed somewhat as follows:—
“Sir Evelyn, I have sent for you to consult you about the campaign in South Africa, but, mind, I will have no croakers here.” I have always thought that there was something deliciously Elizabethan about this prefatory remark. All this is, I fear, a digression; but to revert to the end of 1899,—the main point for me was to get out to South Africa somehow, and that I succeeded in doing.
Lord Roberts sailed with his Staff on board the mail steamer just before Christmas, calling at Gibraltar on the 26th of December to pick up Lord Kitchener, who had been brought there direct from Egypt in a cruiser. He duly arrived on board on that date, accompanied by[231] his two Aides-de-Camp, Lieutenant Walter Cowan, R.N., and Captain James Watson. Cowan is now Rear-Admiral Sir Walter, having done excellent work during the late war, and indeed after it, in the Baltic, while Jimmy Watson has made a career for himself in Egypt, where, amongst other things, he was on the personal Staff of the late Khedive, and I fancy still rejoices in the rank of Watson Pasha. Both of these best of good fellows became friends of mine, and I am glad to say we still occasionally meet.
Next to my Chief and Lord Kitchener, the man who gave me the greatest impression of outstanding ability was the late Colonel Henderson. He was, I think, appointed to the Commander-in-Chief’s Staff as Head Intelligence Officer, and a better appointment never was made. He was a really scientific soldier in the fullest sense of the word; as a literary man he had written one of the very best military books ever printed in his Life of Stonewall Jackson; as a lecturer at the Staff College he had delivered some most interesting and instructive lectures on military subjects,—indeed so clear and well-written were they that, when published, even a sailor like myself could understand and appreciate them. Moreover, he was a most charming companion, and always ready (if asked) to give others the benefit of his great erudition. Unfortunately, even then his health was failing. So ill was he that in a very short time he had to give up riding and take to a Cape cart, and, sad to relate, before the campaign was ended he had been invalided home to England, and died a year or two after his return. He was very kind[232] to me, and,—perhaps because he was a great admirer of my brother John’s History of the Army,—he often gave me of his best in conversation. It used to be my delight on board the steamer to get hold of him after dinner and induce him to talk.
There was a considerable sprinkling of Germans and Dutchmen among the passengers, most of whom were probably spies; but any designs they might have entertained of making some sort of raid on the Chief’s day-cabin in the hopes of getting hold of his papers, was frustrated by the fact that we had a gunboat’s crew on board, going out to relieve men whose time had expired on some small craft on the South African Station. These men were at once made use of as sentries, and so we were able to post a permanent sentry on Lord Roberts’ cabin door, as well as permanent orderlies, to be at his beck and call.
The voyage out was quite uneventful, and our steamer duly arrived at Cape Town on January 10th. The Commander-in-Chief took up his quarters in a very decent little house that had been reserved for him, and I personally settled down close by at the Mount Nelson Hotel. There was not much for the Aides-de-Camp to do while there, for the real work of the Headquarter Staff was the preparation for the advance to Bloemfontein, the entire transport service being reorganised and increased by Lord Kitchener. A few days after our arrival I was sent down to Simon’s Bay to inquire into some complaints that had been lodged by the Boer prisoners who were confined on board a transport that was anchored there. The[233] complaints were absolutely frivolous and hardly worth inquiring into, but were rather amusing as giving an insight into the character of that curious creature whom the British Tommy invariably talked of as “Brother Boer.” Their principal grievance was that they were overcrowded. On inquiry I found out that the transport in question had brought 1200 British troops from England, and whenever it was the least rough all the lower main-deck ports had to be closed, and naturally the ship was under a full head of steam all the time she was making her passage through the tropics. Probably under those conditions the heat and want of air was very trying, but war is war, and discomforts must be expected. The Boer prisoners on board numbered only 440; every sort of ventilation could be freely opened while the ship swung round her anchors, and of course no steam was up. So I explained to the Boer officer who was the spokesman that what was good enough for 1200 British troops at sea was luxury for a handful of prisoners in harbour. He was a decent fellow, and agreed with me that there was no real cause for complaint, but went on to say that Boers were accustomed to the freedom of the veldt and felt the confinement very keenly. It then devolved on me to explain that our prisoners at Pretoria, living behind barbed wire, were also, not exactly, having the time of their lives. This seemed to come quite as a revelation to him, and of course I reported that they had nothing whatever to complain of, and the matter dropped.
I had one or two more trips over to Simon’s Bay to report on the 4·7 guns that were being fitted out there[234] as a battery of mobile siege guns, to be used in the field, and manned by the Naval Brigade.
Another little suburban trip I made was to Stellenbosch. (The name later became, used as a verb, a polite form of speech for denoting the fact that some unfortunate official had proved incompetent, and had to be got rid of.) When I went there it boasted of a large remount establishment, the animals being mostly Argentine cobs and Cape ponies. I succeeded in getting hold of two very useful ones, the Cape pony in particular turning out to be a treasure. I had accompanied Lord Kitchener and some of his Staff, who were, I expect, inspecting the establishment from the point of view of transport.
Altogether we were just about two months at Cape Town, and very weary we all were of the place and right glad when the orders came at last to go to the front! The pleasantest incidents in the life there was the constant meeting of all sorts of old friends, who generally turned up for dinner at Groote-Schurr, which, at that time, had been lent by Mr. Cecil Rhodes to Lady Edward Cecil and Lady Charles Bentinck, who were very busy at war work in the town close at hand. Then every day fresh arrivals turned up from England; my cousin, Lady Bagot, (then Mrs. Joycelyn Bagot), and Lady Henry Bentinck had come out to look after the Portland Hospital; the present Lord Derby, then Lord Stanley, arrived on the scene as Press Censor,—and all one’s friends that came down from the front, either wounded or for a few days’ leave, generally turned up at Groote-Schurr, where open house was kept by[235] Cecil Rhodes for his temporary tenants and their friends.
The only other work we Aides-de-Camp had was to cipher and decipher the telegrams that poured in all day, which were not finally disposed of until nearly midnight, and two of us were generally on duty with the Chief when he was inspecting or going for a constitutional ride in the cool of the evening.
But on the 6th of February our stay at Cape Town came to an end, and the Headquarter Staff left by train for the Modder, and then events succeeded each other pretty quickly. On the 11th Lord Roberts’ flank march began. As concerned the Headquarter Staff, we moved first to Ramdam, and by the 15th were at Jacobsdaal, where we received the good news that French had relieved Kimberley. On the 17th, Cronje was held up at Paardeberg, and on the 19th Lord Roberts and his Staff arrived there.
I am not going into details about the action at Paardeberg. After what we have experienced lately, I suppose no soldier, nowadays, would do otherwise than agree that it would have been worth while, even at the expense of a considerable quantity of casualties, to have bundled Cronje out of his laager without further delay. Even if a good many men might have been sacrificed in such an assault, they would have been few compared to those who perished later of the germs of typhoid probably picked up during that ten days’ wait at Paardeberg. The river being full of dead animals, the water the men were drinking was poisonous. Now, the British soldier is a thirsty animal (and,[236] indeed, as far as the infantryman is concerned, he has every right to be, when, as in Africa, he was carrying a heavy kit under a burning sun and enveloped in clouds of dust). The result was that the men were, more than probably, absorbing typhoid germs during the whole of their stay there.
When the Headquarter Staff arrived there on the 19th there were rumours of an immediate surrender. There must have been further parleys of which I knew nothing, for a few days later I was sent under a white flag to the Boers’ laager with a letter addressed to the Boer Commandant. After I had crossed the drift held by the Boers, I was received by them with perfect civility, and duly delivered my letter, to which, apparently, there was no answer, as I did not bring one back, but I remember well the difficulty I had in getting my horse to cross and recross, so piled up was the river at this fording-place with dead and putrefying animals. A very few days later, on February 27th, I was riding in the same direction again, this time to accompany one of the Generals on the Headquarter Staff, Prettyman by name, who was sent out by the Chief to bring Cronje in. I suppose it was on the strength of this casual acquaintance that Cronje, after his surrender, very much to my disgust, elected to annex my own particular shelter in the Camp, for the use of himself and his old wife, who was the living image of the late Dan Leno when made up for the Christmas pantomime; but it was only for a short time, as he and his 4000 fellow-prisoners were sent down to the Cape next day, most of them en route for St. Helena.
[237]
The next day we had the news of the relief of Ladysmith, on the anniversary of our defeat at Majuba Hill, with all the disgraceful memories of the peace that had been patched up after it. Now at last the disgrace had been wiped out. Well might the Boers say that, after Paardeberg and Ladysmith, we had robbed them even of their Majuba Day.
We were soon on the move after Cronje’s surrender, and by the 12th of March had occupied Bloemfontein. We met with but few difficulties on the road, the only serious trouble being to keep supplies going, and ensure a sufficiency of water. There was one not inconsiderable action on the way, which was fought at Dreifontein, and I was lucky enough to see rather more of it than usual. I had been sent on to select some quarters for the Chief, if there happened to be any available, and had succeeded in finding quite a decent farm, for the moment occupied by our wounded, which would answer the purpose; so my job being completed, and the rest of the Headquarter Staff being many hours behind, I went on with some of my friends among the special correspondents to watch the fighting. I remember that Mr. Gwynne (then, I think, the special correspondent of Reuter, now the well-known editor of the Morning Post) and I settled ourselves down on the top of a very comfortable little kopje, at a convenient distance on the flank of our advance, and watched some of the infantry of the Sixth Division take the Boer position. The Boers were holding a line of kopjes within easy view from where we were ensconced, and were keeping up a hot fire on our advancing troops—who were attacking[238] in the most orthodox way in short rushes, and making use of all the cover available. When our troops had fought their way close up to the Boer line we distinctly saw a Boer show himself on the sky-line with his arms up in an obvious attitude of surrender. The attacking force, thinking that it was all over, at once showed themselves, and were received by a heavy volley at close range, which killed and wounded a number of them; the rest, without a pause, rushed on, and in a few minutes the position was captured. As always, the British soldier showed the greatest magnanimity, and instead of bayoneting the Boers, as they had a perfect right to do for what certainly appeared to be a distinct act of treachery, they contented themselves with making prisoners of all those who had not succeeded in bolting off on their ponies. The little action at Dreifontein was a very considerable success, and might have been an important one, were it not that, as usual, the underfed and overworked cavalry horses were so exhausted that a pursuit was rendered impossible.
Two days later, on March 13th, Lord Roberts entered Bloemfontein. During the early morning of that day I had been sent forward to see if I could find some halting-place where the Headquarter Staff could breakfast, and was fortunate enough to find a very comfortable farm for that purpose, which, as it turned out, belonged to a brother-in-law of Steyn’s. The lady of the house, who was quite a nice woman, received us very amiably, but told us that the Boers never expected we should have left the river and marched in the way we did, as they were persuaded that the route we took would[239] result in the army inevitably perishing of thirst, so waterless was that bit of country. I expect the margin was narrow, but events justified the selection made, and all was well. Just as the Headquarter Staff rode into the town, a column arrived, so Lord Roberts and his Staff halted a............