The Romance of Modern Sieges

Seven weary weeks have passed, and Mafeking still endures the straits of a siege and the terrors of a bombardment. The Boers have summoned to their aid the finest guns from their arsenal in Pretoria to breach and pound the earthworks; they pour shot and shell into the little town: but everybody is living below ground now.

But they have bethought them of a new engine of terror and death. All was dark outside, the good folk in Mafeking were going to bed in peace, when a deafening roar shook the town to its foundation of rock; a lurid glow of blood-red fire lit up square and street and veldt, while pattering down on roofs of corrugated iron dropped a hailstorm of sand and stones, and twigs broken from many trees. The frightened folk ran out to see what had happened, and they saw a huge column of fire and smoke rising from the ground to the north of Mafeking. After the great roar of explosion came a weird silence and then the rattle of falling fragments on roof after roof; and then the cry of terror, the shriek of those who had been aroused from sleep to face the great trumpet-call of the Day of Judgment: for this they imagined that awful phenomenon to portend.

It was not until the morning that they knew what had caused the alarm. About half a mile up the line the ground was rent and torn; the rails were bent and scattered and flung about as by an earthquake.

On inquiry, they found that the Boers had filled a trolley with dynamite, and were to impel it forwards towards Mafeking. They lit the time-fuse, and proceeded to push the trolley up a slight incline. A few yards further, and it would reach the down incline, and would run merrily into town without need of further aid from muscle of man.

But they gave over pushing a little too soon; the trolley began to run back, and it was so dark they did not realize it until it had gathered way; then they called to one another, and some pushed, but others remembered the time-fuse, and stood aloof with their mouths open.

Very soon the time-fuse met the charge, and the dynamite hastened to work all the evil it could, regardless of friend or foe.

Piet Cronje was in command of the Boers now; he was vexed by this unlucky accident, but threatened to send to Pretoria for dynamite guns, just to make this absurd veldt-city jump and squeal. Cronje was willing to ride up and storm Mafeking, but the idle braggarts who formed the greater part of his army dared not face the steel; yet there was more than one lady in the trenches able and ready to use her rifle. The natives had suffered more from shell-fire than the whites. It is not easy to impress the Kaffir mind with the peril of a bursting shell; though the Kaffir may have helped to build bomb-proof shelters for Europeans, yet for himself and his family he thinks a dug-out pit too costly, and will lie about under a tarpaulin or behind a wooden box, until the inevitable explosion some day sends him and his family into the air in fragments.

One such victim was heard to murmur feebly as they put him on the stretcher, “Boss, boss, me hurt very.” They bear pain very stoically, and turn their brown pathetic eyes on those who come to help them, much as a faithful hound will look in his master’s face for sympathy when in the agony of death. There were so many shells that missed human life that the people grew careless and ventured out too often.

Late in November a local wheelwright thought he would extract the charge from a Boer shell which had not exploded. The good man used a steel drill. For a time all went well, and his two companions bent over to watch the operation; then came a hideous row, a smell, a smoke, and the wheelwright, with both his comrades, was hurled into space.

The Boers had not spared the hospital or the convent. The poor Sisters had had a fearful time; the children’s dormitory was in ruins, and their home riddled with holes. Still the brave Sisters stuck to their post, comforted the dying, nursed the sick, and set an example of holy heroism. Here is an extract from a letter describing a scene with the Kaffirs:

“It is amusing to take a walk into the stadt, the place of rocks, and watch the humours of the Kaffirs, some 8,000 in number. Now and then they hold a meeting, when their attire is a funny mixture of savagery and semi-civilization. You come upon a man wearing a fine pair of check trousers, and nothing else, but mighty proud of his check; another will wear nothing but a coat, with the sleeves tied round his neck; some wear hats adorned with an ostrich feather, and a small loin-cloth. My black friend was such a swell among them that he wore one of my waistcoats, a loin-cloth, and a pair of tennis shoes. He wore the waistcoat in order to disport a silver chain, to which was attached an old watch that refused to go. But it was a very valuable ornament to Setsedi, and won him great influence in the kraal. Yet when my friend Setsedi wanted to know the time of day, if he was alone, he just glanced at the shadow of a tree; or if in company, he lugged out his non-ticker, and made believe to consult it in conjunction with the sun. The sun might be wrong – that was the impression he wished to create – and it was perhaps more prudent to correct solar time by this relic of Ludgate Circus. Thus Setsedi, like other prominent politicians, did not disdain to play upon the credulity of his compatriots.

“Sometimes on a Sunday afternoon, when the Boers were keeping the Sabbath and no shells were flying around, the children of the veldt would begin a dance. They formed into groups of forty or fifty, and began with hand-clapping, jumping, and stamping of bare feet. The old crones came capering round, grinning and shrieking delight in high voices apt to crack for age. From stamping the young girls passed on to swaying bodies, every limb vibrating with rising emotion, as they flung out sinewy arms with languorous movement; then more wild grew the dance, more loud the cries of the dancers, as they threw themselves into striking postures, glided, shifted, retreated, laughed, or cried.

“I had been watching them for some time when Setsedi came up to me and said:

“‘Baas, I go now to mark some cows for to-night; will you come?’

“‘What! has the big white chief given you leave to make a raid?’ I asked.

“‘Yes, Marenna – yes; we are to go out to-night, and bring in a herd from beyond the brickfields yonder – if we can.’

“‘And you go now, this afternoon, to mark them down, and spy out the ground?’

“He smiled, showing a set of splendid teeth, pulled out his watch, hit it back and front with his knuckles till it rattled to the very centre of the works, spat carefully, and replied with some pride:

“‘We brought in twenty oxen last week; the chief very pleased with us, and gave us a nice share, Marenna.’

“Setsedi addressed me thus when he was pleased with himself and the universe: Marenna means sir.

“‘Well, Setsedi,’ said I, ‘if I can get leave, I would like to go out with you to-night. May I bring my boy, Malasata?’

“The idea of my asking his permission gave Setsedi such a lift up in his own opinion of himself that he actually reflected with his chin in the air before he finally gave his royal assent to my proposition.

“Time and place were settled, and I went back to the club for a wash. These black chaps, if they don’t help us much in fighting, have proved themselves very useful in providing us now and then with rich, juicy beef from the Boer herds that stray about the veldt. When I went home and told Malasata he was to accompany me to-night on a cattle-raiding foray, like a true Kaffir, he concealed his delight, and only said, ‘Ā-hă, Ā-hă, Unkos!’ but he could not prevent his great brown eyes from sparkling with pleasure. When it was pitch-dark we started – about a score of us – and crept along silently past the outposts, word having been passed that the raiders were to go and come with a Kaffir password or countersign.

“Most of the Kaffirs were stark naked, the better to evade the grasp of any Boer who might clutch at them. A sergeant had been told off to accompany them; he and I were the only white men out that night. After an hour’s careful climbing and crawling, stopping to listen and feel the wind, the better to gauge our direction, Setsedi came close to my ear and whispered:

“‘We can smell them, Baas; plenty good smell. You and sergeant stay here; sit down, wait a bit; boots too much hullabaloo; too loud talkee!’

“It was disappointing, but we quite saw the need of this caution, and we neither of us saw the necessity of walking barefoot upon a stony veldt; so we sat down in the black silence, and waited. Yet it was not so silent as it seemed: we could hear the bull-frogs croaking a mile away in the river-bed, and sometimes a distant tinkle of a cow-bell came to us on the soft breeze, or a meercat rustled in the grass after a partridge. In about half an hour we heard something; was it a reed-buck? Then came the falling of a stone, the crackling of a stick as it broke under their tread; then we rose and walked towards our black friends.

“Three or four Kaffirs were shepherding each ox, ‘getting a move’ on him by persuasion or fist-law. Sometimes one ox would be restive and ‘moo’ to his mates, or gallop wildly hither and thither; but always the persistent, ubiquitous Kaffir kept in touch with his beast, talking to him softly like a man and a brother, and guiding him the way he should go. And all this time the Boers were snoring not 300 yards off, sentry and all, very probably. But it would not do to count upon their negligence; any indiscreet noise might awake a trenchful of Mauser-armed men, and bring upon us a volley of death.

“When we had got the cattle well out of earshot of the Boer lines, the Kaffirs urged on the oxen by running up and pinching them, but without uttering a sound. As we drew near to the native stadt, a great number of natives who had been lying concealed in the veldt rose up to help their friends drive the raided cattle into the enclosure, and the sergeant went to head-quarters with the report of twenty-four head of cattle safely housed.”

The besieged had persevered in their “dug-outs” until May, 1900, being weary and sometimes sick, faint with poor food, and hopes blighted. They had been asked by Lord Roberts to endure a little longer; Kimberley had been relieved, and their turn would come soon.

Meanwhile, President Kruger’s nephew, Commandant Eloff, had come into the Boer camp with men who had once served as troopers at Mafeking, and who knew much about the fortifications. Eloff made a skilful attack upon the town on the 12th of May, and was successful in capturing a fort, Colonel Hore, and twenty-three men. This attack had been urgent, because news had reached the Boers that the British relief column had reached Vryburg on the 10th of May, and Vryburg is only ninety-six miles south of Mafeking. During the fight Mr. J. A. Hamilton, not knowing that the fort had been taken, thought that he would ride across to see Colonel Hore. It was a short ride from where he was – only a few hundred yards. The bullets whistled near his head, and he scampered across the open to reach cover. It was a bad light, and smoke was drifting about, but he saw men standing about the head-quarters or sitting on the stoep facing the town. As he rode his horse was struck, and swerved violently; some one seized his bridle and shouted “Surrender!” They were Boers, and amongst them were Germans, Italians, and Frenchmen. Many speaking at once, they ordered him to hold up his hands, give up his revolver, get off his horse.

“We had better all take cover, I think,” said Hamilton, as English bullets were falling rather near them.

Then they took him within the walls. But he had not yet obeyed any of their orders.

“Will you hold your hands up?” said one Boer, thrusting a rifle into his ribs with a grin.

“With pleasure, under the circumstances,” he replied, trying to smile.

“Will you kindly hand over that revolver?” said another.

“What! and hold my hands up at the same time?”

They were dull; they did not see the joke, but shouted, “Get off!”

Some one unstrapped the girths, and Mr. Hamilton rolled to the ground. It was only then that he saw his horse had been shot in the shoulder, and he asked them to put the poor beast out of his pain.

“No, no! Your men will do that soon enough,” said they.

The poor animal stood quietly looking at him, as he says, with a sad, pathetic, inquiring look in his eyes, as if he were asking, “What can you do for me? I assure you my shoulder gives me awful pain.”

Hamilton was taken inside the fort and made prisoner. When, later in the day, he came out, he found his poor horse lying with his throat cut and seven bullet-wounds in his body.

There were thirty-three prisoners crowded in a small, ill-ventilated store-room, and they grew very hungry. As dusk settled down they began to hear echoes of desperate fighting outside. Bullets came through the wall and roofing, splintering window and door; through the grating of the windows they could see limping figures scurry and scramble; they heard voices cursing them and urging Eloff to handcuff and march the prisoners across the line of fire as a screen for them in their retreat. Then the firing died down, and the Boers seemed to have rallied; then came a fresh outburst of heavy firing, and then a sudden silence. Eloff rushed to the door.

“Where is Colonel Hore?”

“Here!”

“Sir, if you can induce the town to cease fire, we will surrender.”

It was quite unexpected, this turn of events. No one spoke. Then Eloff said:

“I give myself up as a hostage. Get them to cease fire.”

The prisoners went out, waved handkerchiefs, shouted, “Surrender! Cease fire, boys.”

When this was done sixty-seven Boers laid down their rifles, and the prisoners stacked them up in their late prison.

Commandant Eloff was now a prisoner instead of being master of Mafeking; his partial success he owed to his own dash and gallantry, his failure to the half-hearted support of General Snyman. He dined at head-quarters, and a bottle of champagne was opened to console him and distinguish this day of surprises.

On the 16th of May there was great excitement in the town; the great activity in the Boer laagers, the clouds of dust rising in the south, all showed that something new and strange was coming. News had come of General Mahon having joined Colonel Plumer a few miles up the river. “When will they come?” everybody was asking. About half-past two General Mahon’s guns were heard, and the smoke of the bursting shells could be seen in the north-west.

In the town people were taking things very calmly. Had they not enjoyed this siege now for seven months, when it had been expected to last three weeks at the most? They were playing off the final match in the billiard tournament at the club. Then came a hubbub, and Major Pansera galloped by with the guns to get a parting shot at the retiring Boers.

Then fell the dusk, and the guns came back. Everybody went to dinner very elated and happy. “By noon to-morrow we shall be relieved,” they said.

It was now about seven o’clock; the moon was shining brightly in the square.

“Hello! what’s this? Who are you, then?”

There were eight mounted men sitting on horseback outside the head-quarters office.

“Who are you, and what do you want?” asked a man in the crowd.

“We are under Major Karie Davis with a despatch from General Mahon.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, we’ve come to relieve you fellows; but you don’t seem to care much whether you are relieved or not.”

Then the news travelled round the town; a great crowd gathered, and round after round of cheers broke out. The troopers were surrounded by enthusiastic citizens, cross-questioned, congratulated, slapped on the back, shaken by the hand, and offered – coffee!

Major Davis came out and called for cheers for the garrison; then all fell to hallooing of such anthems as “Rule Britannia” and “God save the Queen.”

Then the troopers of the Imperial Light Horse were taken in to supper.

About two in the morning the troops entered Mafeking – not quite 2,000 men; but when the townsfolk, hearing the noise, ran out into the starry, moonlit night, they saw such a host of horses, mules, and bullocks, such a line of waggons and camp-followers, and such a beautiful battery of bright Royal Horse and Canadian Artillery and Maxims that life seemed worth living at last. Those who did not laugh quietly went home and cried for joy. They had earned their day of delight.

Mafeking had endured 1,498 shells from the 100-pound Creusot; besides this, they had had to dodge 21,000 odd shells of smaller calibre. Men who saw Ladysmith said that the ruin at Mafeking was far greater.

Lord Roberts had, with his wonted generosity, sent a mob of prime bullocks and a convoy of other luxuries. So when the Queen’s birthday came, as it soon did, the town made merry and were very thankful.

England was thankful too, for although it was only a little town on the veldt, every eye at home had been upon the brave defenders who, out of so little material, had produced so grand a defence.

It is not too much to say that Colonel Baden-Powell and his gallant company had not only kept the flag flying; they had done far more: they had kept up the spirits of a nation beginning to be humiliated by defeat after defeat, when most of the nations of Europe were jeering at her, and wishing for her downfall. But God gave us victory in the end.

In part from J. A. Hamilton’s “Siege of Mafeking,” by kind permission of Messrs. Methuen and Co.