A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook

Title:      Scapegoats of the Empire:
            The True Story of Breaker Morant'S Bushveldt Carbineers
Author:     Lieut. George Witton
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Language:   English
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Date first posted:          July 2004
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Title:      Scapegoats of the Empire:
            The True Story of Breaker Morant'S Bushveldt Carbineers
Author:     Lieut. George Witton


[Illustrated from Photographs.]



INTRODUCTION.

This book is dedicated to my fellow-citizens of the Commonwealth of
Australia, in grateful recognition of their loyal, continuous, and
successful efforts towards my release from an English prison.

I have not attempted to defend the doings of the ill-starred Bushveldt
Carbineers, or the policy of those who employed them.

The methods of dealing with prisoners, which have been solely attributed
to that corps, were in active operation before the so-called "Australian"
officers went to the Spelonken district--a fact which the English press,
and a large section of the Australian press, systematically ignored.

When I arrived in Australia, I found that the grossest misrepresentations
had been made by those primarily responsible for the manner of the
warfare which "staggered humanity," and that they had succeeded in
linking the name of Australia with the most tragic and odious incidents
connected with a mercenary and inglorious war.

If the publication of the truth will in some measure cause Australians,
as a people, to take less on trust where their honour is concerned, and
in future to demand the most searching enquiries and obtain definite
proof before accepting the misdeeds of others as their own, then this
record of an eventful experience will not have been written in vain.
GEORGE R. WITTON.
"THE ELMS."
LANCEFIELD,
VICTORIA.



CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.     Volunteering to Fight "For the Empire"
CHAPTER II.    The Voyage to Africa
CHAPTER III.   Round About Beira
CHAPTER IV.    On the Sick List
CHAPTER V.     The Australians in Cape Town
CHAPTER VI.    Commissioned in the Bushveldt Carbineers
CHAPTER VII.   The Origin of the Carbineers
CHAPTER VIII.  What Led to the Trouble
CHAPTER IX.    Death of Captain Hunt--Morant's Reprisals
CHAPTER X.     By Order--"No Quarter!"
CHAPTER XI.    Morant's Creditable Exploit
CHAPTER XII.   Ordered for Court-Martial
CHAPTER XIII.  Beyers--And the Flag he Slept On
CHAPTER XIV.   Further Proceedings of Court-Martial
CHAPTER XV.    Close of the Visser Case
CHAPTER XVI.   The Eight Boers Case
CHAPTER XVII.  The Second Court-Martial--Continued
CHAPTER XVIII. In the Name of Justice!
CHAPTER XIX.   The German Missionary Case
CHAPTER XX.    Execution of Morant and Handcock
CHAPTER XXI.   "Imprisonment for Life!"
CHAPTER XXII.  Gaol Discipline and Prison Blunders
CHAPTER XXIII. The Petition for Release
CHAPTER XXIV.  The Long Suspense
CHAPTER XXV.   Freedom at Last!


SCAPEGOATS OF THE EMPIRE



CHAPTER I.

VOLUNTEERING TO FIGHT "FOR THE EMPIRE."

When war was declared between the British and Boers, I, like many of my
fellow-countrymen, became imbued with a warlike spirit, and when reverses
had occurred among the British troops, and volunteers for the front were
called for in Australia, I could not rest content until I had offered the
assistance one man could give to our beloved Queen and the great nation
to which I belong.

When the first Australian Contingent was being prepared for active
service, I was a gunner in the Royal Australian Artillery, and was
stationed at Fort Franklin, opposite Queenscliff, Victoria. I was sworn
to serve for five years in the Artillery, and this gave me little hope
that my wish to go to Africa would be realised. But one day a notice
appeared in brigade orders that a limited number of artillerymen would be
selected for service at the front, all applicants to parade on the jetty
at Portsea in full marching order. Between thirty and forty attended.
Soon the launch "Mars" put in an appearance from Queenscliff with
Lieut.-Colonel Charles Umphelby, O.C.R.A.A., on board. (Lieut.-Colonel
Umphelby was killed on active service at Driefontein in 1900.) The O.C.
inspected the men, and picked out one here and there; when he came to me
he looked me up and down, and remarked that I was too "big and heavy,"
and all my hopes were dashed to the ground. We congratulated those whom
we thought were the fortunate ones, and hoped for better luck ourselves
should another contingent be required.

As time went on, and reports came to hand of hard fighting and much
tougher work than had been anticipated, I got more tired than ever of
barrack-room soldiering, and hankered for something more real and
exciting. Another call was made, another contingent was to be sent; my
prospects began to brighten, but only two men were selected from the
R.A.A., two quartermaster-sergeants. With the third contingent no
opportunity was given to me to join. Shortly after a fourth contingent
was raised, to be known as the Australian Imperial Regiment. The
qualifications for the Regiment were bush experience, and that every man
should be able to ride and shoot. The "machines," or the men who could
merely drill and move their arms and feet as though they were worked on
wire, without having the above qualifications, had no place in this
contingent. I was among the successful applicants from the R.A.A., as I
had been born in the bush, could ride almost as soon as I could walk, and
had learned to shoot almost as soon as I learned anything. My actual
military experience was gained during the twelve months I was with the
R.A.A.

As soon as selected, I, with my comrades, was sent to the Victoria
Barracks, Melbourne, for examination and tests. While there it was my
duty to assist at the Mounted Police Depot, receiving, breaking,
branding, and trucking remounts prior to sending them into camp at
Langwarrin, also attending with horses at the Domain for the riding test.
This riding test seemed to be looked upon by the general public as a kind
of circus, and was attended daily by thousands of spectators. The track
was about half a mile round, and the test was to commence at a trot,
break into a gallop, and negotiate three jumps. A man could judge fairly
his chance of success by the applause or "barracking" as he passed the
crowd. There were many good horsemen among the recruits, men who could
ride anything anywhere, and not a few who could rarely have seen a horse,
much less have ridden it over a jump. One little recruit, with a very
theatrical appearance, known by the sobriquet of "Bland Holt," had a
great struggle to get his halter on his horse, and when it came to
putting on the bridle, which was one of the Mounted Police pattern, and
rather a complicated piece of harness to a new chum, he got terribly
tangled up. After about ten minutes struggling, panting, perspiring, and
much whoo-whoaing, he succeeded in hanging the bridle on with the bit
over the horse's ears. At this stage an Artilleryman went to his rescue
and saddled his horse for him. When his turn came to ride, he led his
horse before the examining officer, and with much difficulty succeeded in
climbing into the saddle, and started off at a walk. "Trot!" shouted the
officer. The horse quickened its pace, and "Bland Holt" and his hopes of
doing yeoman service for the Empire fell to the ground.

This was one of many similar incidents which took place during the
fortnight the riding test lasted. About the end of March, 1900, I
received orders to go into camp at Langwarrin. During the encampment
there I acted as assistant to Camp Quartermaster-Sergeant Creaney, of the
Hastings Battery. My duties were principally to requisition for rations
and forage, and furnish returns to headquarters of any lost or worn-out
equipment. On 3rd April I received my first promotion, and was made
lance-corporal, and posted to the squadron under Captain J. Dallimore.
This officer was very highly esteemed by all, and for bravery during the
war he was promoted to the rank of major, and earned the D.S.O. While I
was at Portland Prison, some years later, I learned, with the deepest
regret, that the major had been accidentally drowned while fishing at
Warrnambool shortly after his return to Australia.

Things went on apace in camp. The equipment department worked night and
day transforming the civilian recruit into the puttied khaki soldier.
Camp life was very pleasant at Langwarrin, for our friends used to come
by the score, and bring well-filled hampers to picnic with us, and at
night a large camp fire would be lighted and a concert held, while there
was no fear of the enemy coming upon us unawares. On Sunday we were
besieged by thousands of visitors, who begged earnestly from the soldiers
a button or badge or some little keepsake as a memento. I myself was the
recipient of several new coins, of coins with holes in them and battered
halfpennies, which I was informed by the givers would bring me good luck.
I am afraid I was born under an unlucky star, for if there is such a
thing as luck, it did not come my way. I also received a presentation
from a few of my old friends of a very nice silver-mounted letter wallet,
with fountain pen and all the material necessary for a war correspondent,
in order, doubtless, to keep them posted up with my experiences and
doings and the number of Dutchmen I succeeded in despatching. The time
passed very pleasantly, but there was another side to this--it rained in
torrents for several days without ceasing, and the camp and horse lines
became a veritable quagmire. It was then decided to move the camp and
transfer the troops to the show-ground at Flemington. It was a memorable
"trek" when we moved out for Flemington in the pouring rain; it damped
the ardour of many a "contingenter," and numbers "handed in their kits."
I was sent on with a fatigue party to prepare rations and forage for the
rain-soaked troops and horses. But this was only for a few days; we had
scarcely settled down when we were moved again to Langwarrin, and by the
end of April all was in readiness for embarkation.

Lieut.-Colonel Kelly, of the Victorian Field Artillery, had been selected
to command the regiment. We left Langwarrin in full marching order about
midday on 28th April and reached Mentone, where we bivouacked. In the
morning my horse's nosebag was missing, but I found it some months later
on the South African veldt. We arrived in Melbourne about noon on 29th
April, and expected to embark the same afternoon on the transport
"Victorian," lying at the Port Melbourne pier. Through some hitch, the
boat was not ready to receive us, and we were again quartered at the
show-ground at Flemington. On Tuesday, 1st May, we broke up camp. It was
a glorious and never-to-be-forgotten day, and our march through the city
was signalised by an unparalleled demonstration of popular applause. The
streets were packed, and in places the troops could only pass in single
file. Handkerchiefs, sweets, and all kinds of good things were pressed
upon us as we passed through the crowd.

On arrival at the pier, the work of embarking the horses was at once
commenced, and over 700 were shipped and stalled in less than four hours.
Getting the troops on board was a more difficult matter, as there was so
much leave-taking and so many good-byes to say. The boat was cleared of
visitors and put off from the pier, anchoring for the night opposite
Williamstown. All on board was confusion and bustle, and many of the crew
had been having a jolly time and were incapable of performing their
duties. We got nothing that night in the shape of rations; fortunately we
had our haversacks to fall back on, which provided sufficient for the
day. Later on hammocks were brought out and slung. It was a new
experience for me to sleep in one, and I fancy I must have slung mine too
slack, for when I got into it my head and my feet almost touched, and I
think I must have resembled a mammoth wood-grub in repose. We weighed
anchor about 7 a.m. on Wednesday morning, and passed the heads about 11
a.m. I saw many of my old Queenscliff comrades signalling and
gesticulating from the forts as we passed through the Rip. The pilot was
next put off, and we were soon under way in earnest for South Africa.
Cape Otway was the last glimpse we had of the home land, and owing to the
"Victorian" keeping well out to sea, no more land was sighted until we
were off the coast of Madagascar.

As this was my first experience of a sea voyage, I fully expected that a
bout of sea-sickness would be part of the programme, but such was not the
case as far as I was concerned, and when I saw scores of my comrades
hanging limply over the side and lying like dead men about the deck, I
congratulated myself in the words of the Pharisee, "Thank God I am not as
other men are." Everything on board was soon got into ship-shape order,
and we lived fairly well. A large quantity of fruit and butter bad been
sent on board as a gift for the use of the troops, and was greatly
appreciated as a welcome addition to the bill of fare.

My duties were to assist the regimental quartermaster-sergeant, and
superintend the distribution of the horse feed. This was stowed in the
hold, hoisted up daily, and portioned out to the different squadrons. The
horses were a splendid lot, and stood the voyage remarkably well, only
one dying during the trip.

When about three days at sea a batch of stowaways made their appearance;
they looked a motley and grimy crowd as they emerged from the coal
bunkers. They were paraded before the ship's captain, who put them to
work on the coal for the remainder of the voyage. On arrival at Beira
they joined the Mashonaland Mounted Police. A little later we were
paraded before the medical officers and vaccinated; it affected some very
badly, and for a time they were quite incapable of doing any duty.

After about five days out I was agreeably surprised when I was informed
that I had been promoted to the rank of sergeant. I was put in charge of
a squad to instil into them the contents of the "Red Book" on Infantry
Drill. At times, when the boat gave a roll, more turnings were gone
through than were set down in the drill book.



CHAPTER II.

THE VOYAGE TO AFRICA.

It was now drill continuously all day and every day. Sergeant-Major
Oakes, of the Victorian Rangers, held a class of instruction for
non-commissioned officers every morning, and during the day
Lieut.-Colonel Kelly would read to us from the bridge extracts from
Queen's Regulations and Military Law, specially impressing upon us those
parts which referred to the first duty of a soldier, "obedience to
orders." Every Sunday church parade was held on deck; the services were
conducted by the Rev. Major Holden, who accompanied us as far as Beira.
Everyone had a good word for the chaplain, who was always moving about
among the men, providing them with all kinds of books and writing
material, and his many kindnesses were greatly appreciated by all. He
edited and published a paper on board named "The A.I. Register," which
was a great success. The demand for copies was so large that the supply
of paper ran out, and publication ceased after the first issue.

Occasionally we would have a shooting competition between the different
squadrons; an empty box or fruit case would be dropped overboard as a
target, and when it was about 200 yards away we would fire volleys at it.
The results were watched by a party of officers on the bridge, and points
were awarded for the best shooting. Almost every evening concerts were
held on deck, a very fine piano having been given for the use of the
troops by the Acting-Governor of Victoria, Sir John Madden. A phonograph
was also much in evidence, and at times a boxing contest would also be
indulged in.

When we began to steer north-west the weather became very hot, and
consequently trying for the troops, being almost unbearable day and
night. Beira Harbour was reached on the morning of 22nd May, 1900. The
British gunboat "Partridge" came out and met us. We were all very anxious
to know how the war was going, as we had not heard any news since leaving
Melbourne. Mafeking had been relieved on the 17th, but there was still
plenty to do. Pretoria had not then been occupied.

We anchored in the harbour, opposite the town. The "Armenian," with the
New South Wales contingent on board, had arrived a few days before, and
we were greeted with ringing cheers when we dropped anchor alongside.

As there was no pier, everything had to be landed in lighters. The horses
were taken off in a kind of flat-bottomed barge 20 ft. square; a tug boat
would take it within a chain or so of the land, and a team of Kaffirs
would then wade in and seize hold of a rope and haul it on to the beach.
Owing to the harbour being full of shipping, we had rather an exciting
time on one of the lighters. In dodging among the other boats, we got
foul of an anchor chain, and were cast adrift, starting off with the tide
at a great rate. Our tug-boat, while manoeuvring round to pick us up, was
run into by another tug. After much gesticulating and vociferating on the
part of the Portuguese captains, we were taken in tow again, and
eventually landed on the beach.

While we were waiting in the harbour, the "Manhattan" arrived with the
South Australian, West Australian, and Tasmanian contingents; she
afterwards returned to Durban and landed her troops there. The 24th being
the Queen's Birthday, there was a great display of bunting in the bay. At
night there were fireworks, and a patriotic concert held on board. We
sang "Boys of the Bulldog Breed," "Tommy Atkins," and "God Save the
Queen" till "lights out."

After landing at Beira, we encamped about half a mile outside the town,
adjoining the Remount Depot, where over 2000 horses, principally
Hungarian ponies, were paddocked. These ponies were real little beauties
to look at, and many looked fit to win a Melbourne Cup, but rather fine
for remounts.

Beira is a wretched little place, built on a narrow ridge of sand along
the beach. The old part of the town is built principally of galvanised
iron, with here and there standing out prominently a modern building of
brick, roofed with red tiles. The streets are usually ankle deep in loose
sand; narrow tramways are laid down along the streets, and townspeople
and tradesmen have their own private cars, which are pushed along by
Kaffirs. These cars take the place of vehicular traffic, cabs and
rickshaws being conspicuous by their absence. The cars are a motley
collection. Some are of very rude workmanship, pushed along by a couple
of dirty and almost naked Kaffirs, while others are of a more modern and
aristocratic type, being hooded and upholstered, and propelled by as many
as four gaily-dressed Kaffir boys. The railway (of 2-ft. gauge) and
trains were built on a miniature scale; it was quite amusing to see them
going along. Judging by the way the wheels went round, the smoke and
noise, one would think he was travelling at least 60 miles an hour, when
in reality he was travelling about six.

At this time troops were being sent into Rhodesia, and the Chartered
Company was laying down a broad gauge in place of the narrow gauge
between Salisbury and Beira. The contractor had completed it as far as
Bamboo Creek, a malaria-stricken swamp 90 miles inland from Beira, and I
wondered why the broader gauge was not pushed on to Beira, as the traffic
there had become very congested. From credible information I learned that
the contractors were getting £1000 per day for taking the troops through
the Portuguese territory, and doubtless had their own time to do it in.

It was scandalous that thousands of men, wholly unused to such a climate,
should be kept for months in such an unhealthy district, where fever and
dysentery were undermining the constitutions of hundreds of them.

Several corps of Australian Bushmen had arrived at Beira just a month
before us, and had gone through to Marrandellas. Some time after, the
following article with reference to them was written and published in an
English journal:--

To say that they were extremely annoyed would be describing their
feelings too mildly.

They were very savage; they forgot themselves slightly, and swore with
force and originality. They cursed Rhodesia, they cursed fate, they
cursed their various Governments, but mostly they cursed their
Governments, for they are a very political people these Australians,
weaned on manifestoes and reared on Parliamentary debates. They cursed
their Governments, knowing by heart their weaknesses, and ever ready to
attribute the non-success of any undertaking--be it political, social, or
warlike--to the dilatory action of certain members of the divers
Cabinets.

"The Government ought never to have sent us up here at all," a
Queenslander spoke with great earnestness, "if they wanted us to see any
fighting. Got to Beira in April, now it's June, and--"

They were "out of it." Pretoria was occupied. This was the news which had
spread the wave of pessimism over a little wayside camp on the
Bulawayoroad--a camp on the fringe of the long white road, which wound
south and dipped north.

The Sabakwe River trickled through the land, a stone's throw from the
white tilted waggons drawn tailboard to pole to form a rough laager, and
the heavy-eyed oxen stood knee-deep in its sluggish waters.

North, or rather north-east, several nights away, was Marrandellas. South
of that, and far, was Beira, and it was two months ago since they had
left. Two months, and Mafeking had been relieved, Johannesburg entered,
Pretoria occupied. Therefore the Bushmen, who dreamt not of Eland's
River, and to whom Zeerust was a name in a gazetteer, grew despondent.

"Do you think there is a chance of fighting, sir?"

I could not answer the Victorian who asked, nor did I have the heart to
reprove the Tasmanian who swore.

"Well," remarked the Queenslander, "all I can say is, that if we don't
see any fighting it will be a shame." He qualified shame. "We didn't come
out here to be piffled through this country." There was an adjective
before country. "If I wanted to admire scenery I'd have stayed in
Queensland. If I wanted gold I'd have gone to Rockhampton. As for land,
well, if any of you fellers want land I'll sell you a run of 6000 acres
of the best land in the world."

They are peculiar, the men who are holding Eland's River; they are not
soldiers as we in London know soldiers; they don't like shouldering arms
by numbers, and they vote squad drill "damn silly." They are poor
marching men, for they have been used to riding; they ride firmly, but
not gracefully. The horses they prefer are great, rough, upstanding
brutes that buck themselves into inverted V's when they are mounted, and
stand on their hind legs to express their joy. The Bushman will ride a
horse for a hundred miles without thinking it anything extraordinary, and
bring it in in good condition, but he cannot go for a couple of miles
without galloping the poor brute to death. He is very careful how he
feeds his mount, and would sooner go without food himself than his dumb
friend should be hungry, but it takes a troop-sergeant-major and three
corporals to make a Bushman groom his horse.

They are very patient, these men; their training makes them so. They have
learnt to sit by waterholes and watch sheep, dividing their time between
week-old papers and day-old lambs. Politics interest them; wars--ordinary
every-day war that does not call for their active interference--interest
them; but the price of wool interests them more than all these things.
Russian famines distress them, Indian plagues alarm them, but the blue
staring sky and the rain that comes not make lines round their eyes, and
puts grey into their beards.

They have got their own method of going out to fight, and that method is
as distinct from that of the regular Tommy as Tommy's is foreign to the
C.I.V.
Tommy goes forth to battle in a workmanlike manner. He seldom writes
farewell letters, but grabs a hunk of biscuit, gives his water-bottle a
shake to see how much he has got, buckles on his pouches and bayonet,
and, with the instinct bred on a dozen barrack squares, smooths the
creases out of his stained khaki jacket. Then he picks up his rifle and
eyes it critically, jerks back the bolt and squints up the barrel--Tommy,
the workman, is careful of his tools--pushes back the bolt, mechanically
snaps the trigger, fixes his helmet firmly on his head, and steps out to
join his company.

The C.I.V. when I knew him first was somewhat self-conscious. His rifle
was clean, his bandolier was ready to put on, his coat was nicely rolled,
his putties were evenly fixed; long before the fall-in bugle sounded he
was ready for parade--for he was very keen. When the bugle sounded he
picked up his rifle, not carelessly, as did his brother of the line, but
reverently and with care. He adjusted his broad-brimmed hat, he patted
his bayonet to see if it was there, and went out to face the pock-marked
trenches with the proud consciousness that at the worst he would make a
picturesque casualty.

The Bushman knows his rifle as the city man knows his walking-stick. He
feels neither contempt nor awe for it. It is a commercial asset, a
domestic property. Perhaps he keeps his wife in dresses by shooting
kangaroos; perhaps he keeps himself in whisky by tracking wallabies. His
equipment is scanty. He has a bandolier, perhaps a pouch, possibly a
mess-tin, certainly a "billy." When the parade-call goes he falls in with
his fellows, and numbers off from the right somewhat sheepishly. On
parade he is a unit and has to do as he's told, and he isn't quite used
to submitting his will to those of others in authority.

"Fours right!"

He wheels round awkwardly. If he makes a slip he causes his horse to buck
to cover his confusion.

"Walk--march!"

He is off, and he feels easier. Then comes the splitting up of his
squadron into little independent patrols, and he breathes freely, for
with a couple of kindred spirits on a scouting trip he is a man once more
with a soul of his own. He sees most things and acts quickly. Before the
"ping" of the sniper's bullet has died away he is off his horse and under
cover. Then, if the sniper is an intelligent man, he won't move about
much, for when a Bushman has located his quarry he can lie quite still
for an hour at a stretch, his cheek touching the stock, his finger
resting lightly on the trigger.

These are the men who are holding Eland's River--men who live on "damper"
and tea--men whose progress through Rhodesia was marked by many dead
horses and much profanity.

They wanted to fight badly. They prayed that they might get into a tight
place. Their prayer is answered.

If you knew the Eland's River garrison you would not pity them, you would
rejoice with them.



CHAPTER III.

ROUND ABOUT BEIRA.

Life in camp at Beira was almost a repetition of Langwarrin, being
principally occupied in attending to and exercising the horses. On my
arrival in camp I was instructed by Captain Dallimore to act as
squadron-quartermaster-sergeant; my duties were to see that rations and
forage were drawn daily and all camp equipment kept in order.
Occasionally I went out on the veldt when exercising the horses; there
appeared to be plenty of game about, and whenever a small buck rose up
close to us there would be a hue-and-cry after it. Sometimes we would
succeed in running it down in the long grass. It was rather dangerous
sport galloping through the long grass, as one was very likely to come a
nasty cropper over a hidden ant-heap. We were not allowed to take rifles
out with us, but a revolver would always be forthcoming; this was used
instead, but never with very great success.

On one of these outings I got my first glimpse of the Kaffirs at home.
The kraals are neat little round grass huts, much resembling the
old-fashioned straw bee-hives, with one small opening as a door, but so
small that one would require to go on all-fours to get inside.
Gaunt-looking natives, clad in only a "moucha," or loin cloth, sat lazily
about, while little picaninnies, naked as when born, played around. The
women, who appeared to be doing all the work, would dart inside like
rabbits into a burrow when anyone approached. When we came up a group had
been busily engaged round a large pot of Kaffir corn, black-looking stuff
resembling linseed meal when cooked.

My opinion of the Kaffir, which was formed after later experiences, is
not a good one. In his raw state, in his skins and cats' tails, he is
physically and morally not a bad fellow; he will work intermittently, and
much like a child, as if it were play. But as soon as he has been brought
into contact with the civilising influence of the mission stations, and
has discarded his cats' tails for European dress, and begins to ape the
white man, he becomes a bore, and combines all the white man's vices with
his own innate cunning and deceit, and his ruin is accomplished. He will
not work in the hot sun, and when it is cold or raining is the most
miserable of creatures, and almost incapable of work. The Dutchmen could
only manage them by instilling energy into them from the end of a
"sjambok."

As a fighting man the Kaffir is worse than useless. I would rather have
one white man than a whole regiment of Kaffirs.

Most men who have had any lengthened experience among so-called
Christianised natives, and have studied the work of the missionaries
among them, are inclined to term mission stations "bosh," and the
stations are rarely supported by anyone who has studied them from behind
the scenes.

In return for his labour the native receives a smattering of education,
and it is not unusual to meet a young native in the vicinity of a mission
station with his face buried in a preparatory primer, ejaculating from
memory, "I see a dog," "This is my dog," "God is my father," "God is in
heaven."

As the coloured population in South Africa runs into many millions, the
native question will always remain a big item in South African politics.
Until polygamy and other privileges he now enjoys under tribal rights and
customs are abolished the Kaffir will never become a good worker. At
present he is allowed to have as many wives as he wishes; it is not "as
many as he can afford to keep," for they are practically his slaves, and
do the work to keep him, while he idles about the kraal smoking and
drinking "joualla" or Kaffir beer. With proper legislation, management,
and treatment coloured labour would never need to be imported to South
Africa. The evils of the importation are seen to-day in Natal, where the
Hindu holds the monopoly in many trades.



CHAPTER IV.

ON THE SICK LIST.

The country about Beira is very flat, and at times much of the land
becomes flooded, and the roads have to be raised six or eight feet to be
passable. During our stay there the Portuguese Governor and suite paid a
visit to the New South Wales camp, which had been grandly decorated for
the occasion with palms, banana trees, and other tropical vegetation. His
Excellency greatly admired the troops and the splendid condition of the
Australian horses; also Captain Ryrie's unique exhibition of boomerang
throwing.

We had been at Beira nearly a month, during which time troops had been
dribbling through to Rhodesia. At last it was our turn to be passed on to
Bamboo Creek; we entrained at four in the afternoon, and reached Bamboo
Creek at three in the morning--90 miles in eleven hours. It was
considered quite a record trip. We had been very fortunate in that the
train had kept on the rails the whole way without a break-down or a
smash-up; I had noticed broken and overturned rolling-stock at intervals
along the line.

About five miles out from Beira we passed through a belt of typical
tropical jungle, dense undergrowth of bamboo and scrub, while overhead
the trees were decked with parasite plant life, and festooned with many
kinds of creeper. The Queensland bean was very prominent, its gigantic
pods from six to eight feet in length hanging from the stems.

We stayed at Bamboo Creek four days--quite long enough, judging by the
look of the cemetery opposite the camp, which had been well filled from
the Imperial Yeomanry who had passed through ahead of us, a number having
been employed in the workshops there building rolling-stock.

The town consisted of a couple of tin shanties, where the principal drink
sold was bad wine. I had been left behind with a party of men to strike
camp and gather up all camp equipment that remained, and entrain it for
Umtali; I was not sorry when we got on our way. After travelling all
night we stopped at Mandegas for breakfast and to feed the horses.

The country round here consists of vast plains; the landscape is bare and
uninviting, and deficient in water and tree growth. After leaving
Mandegas behind, the physical features of the country begin to change;
isolated kopjes rise out of the veldt, and bold and picturesque outlines
of ranges appear in the distance. We wound our way through the rugged
gorges of Massi-Kessi, an important gold-mining district on the plateau
which stretches along the Portuguese boundary, and, passing into
Mashonaland, arrived at Umtali, in Rhodesia, and pitched our camp in the
station yard.

I was favourably impressed with this town on account of the number and
character of its buildings, its telephone service, and general up-to-date
appearance; it is one of those little towns that are just moving ahead on
account of the rich goldfields in the neighbourhood. It is prettily
situated in a kind of great basin, almost surrounded by high mountain
ranges. A little agriculture is done in this district, a settlement of
Dutch farmers having been placed there by Cecil Rhodes, who himself had a
model farm a little to the north.

The grass grew very long and rank, and appeared as if it would carry any
number of stock. The Chartered Company afterwards put on it a thousand
head of cattle which had been shipped from Australia and brought in via
Beira. I afterwards met one of the men who had gone over with them and
herded them at Umtali; he informed me that the experiment had been a
complete failure; although they had arrived in splendid condition, the
whole of them died within six months, and he had been stricken with
malarial fever.

We were now in British territory, so it was decided to leave the railway
and go on "trek" to Marrandellas; the Dutch settlers furnished the
transports. Leaving Umtali we took the road through Christmas Pass, and
rose several thousand feet as we wound our way through the mountains
which encircle the town. The scenery as we rose higher and higher became
more magnificent and enchanting; all around us was rank vegetation, among
which ferns and beautiful wild flowers grew in great profusion, and
gay-plumaged birds flitted about. Occasionally we got a glimpse of a
distant landscape of fantastic and rugged grandeur, glorified by the
setting sun. The climate being dry and the air so remarkably clear, even
at a great distance the landscape stands out very distinctly.

We passed through Old Umtali, which had been a flourishing little
settlement before the railway line was built, and had been the scene of
much fighting during the last native insurrection. A mission station was
about all that remained, and in its garden I noticed old rifle barrels
being used to stake young fruit-trees. Along the road were deserted and
tumble-down farm houses, once the homes of struggling settlers whom the
natives had swooped down upon and massacred; this was made painfully
evident by the lonely graves close by.

After five days' trekking through bush veldt country we reached Rusapi, a
small trading station on the railway about half way between Umtali and
Marrandellas; we bivouacked near the river. I shall always have a lively
recollection of this camp. I turned in as usual after dark--that is, I
rolled myself up in my blanket, and lay on the ground with my saddle for
a pillow. It was a bitterly cold night, but being tired I soon dropped
off to sleep. Towards morning I woke with a most awful pain in my right
knee, which had become very stiff and much swollen. I began to think of
snakes and poisonous insects, but on examination I could find no trace of
anything having bitten me. With the assistance of one of my comrades I
went in search of the doctor, who examined me, and informed me that I was
suffering from a severe attack of "synovitis" (inflammation of the
membranes of the joint). He ordered me to be taken on one of the
transport waggons and to bathe my knee with cold water as often as
possible.

That ride, which lasted seven days, was one of the most agonising of my
experiences. I sat on the top of the waggon, which was loaded with
supplies, and was unable even to lie down with any comfort, while the
bumping and jolting intensified the pain until it became almost
unbearable. At night, when we outspanned, I would lie under the waggon
out of the night dews. Sleep was out of the question; I could only listen
to the jackals and hyenas howling round the camp.

In the daytime I would try to chum in with the Dutch driver, but I found
him extremely taciturn; he would sit on the front of the waggon and smoke
all day, and it was only when we got stuck in a drift, or at some other
tight pinch, that he would get off and flog the oxen most unmercifully.
One of the oxen, which was a bit of a warrigal, or a "bi-schellum" as he
termed it, he named "Englishman," and when the whip was being used poor
"Englishman" received more attention than the rest of the team put
together. Racial hatred was then at a very high pitch, and no opportunity
was lost in giving expression to it. Although, perhaps, since peace was
declared opinions are not so openly discussed, in the hearts of the Dutch
race this hatred undoubtedly still exists, and is likely to exist through
generations yet to come, though in the meantime it may be kept in check
through the rifle and at the point of the sword.

As we continued our journey, on one occasion we got stuck in a drift or
ford, among rocks and boulders. After several unsuccessful attempts to
get out, our team was supplemented by another span; the result was
equally unsuccessful. A third was then attached, making a span of nearly
sixty oxen; again they tried to start, the drivers and natives shrieking,
slashing, swearing, and shouting as though Pandemonium were let loose.
This time the pole broke, and the waggon was left standing in the stream;
eventually it was got upon the bank and the teams outspanned while the
pole was repaired. When nearing Marrandellas the troops went on into
camp, leaving the transports some five or six miles out on the road. We
had camped for the night, and my leg was so stiff and painful that I
could not put it to the ground. I was anxiously waiting for the morrow,
when I would be able to go into hospital and get some kind of treatment.

During the evening a spring cart was sent out from the camp to the
waggons for the officers' kits, and I embraced what I thought was an
opportunity of getting into hospital instead of spending another night on
the veldt. I was put in the cart, and all went well for about two miles,
when we came to a drift with a steep bank on either side. As soon as we
started on the upgrade, the horse stopped dead, and neither whip nor
coaxing would make him move. After about an hour wasted in various
expedients, and when the resources of the driver had been exhausted, he
decided to take the brute back to camp and return with a fresh animal,
promising faithfully to return in about two hours.

I lay on the ground wrapped in a horse-rug, quite alone, and waited; hour
after hour passed, but no driver returned. The night was extremely cold;
I had no fire, and very little covering, and I did not get a wink of
sleep. All night long wild animals made the night hideous with weird and
blood-curdling sounds. Lying there in the dark, helpless and unarmed, I
could hear the sound of sticks breaking only a few yards away, and as my
ideas of Rhodesia were largely associated with lions and other man-eating
carnivora, I concluded that before morning there would be a vacancy for a
sergeant in my regiment.

Shortly after daylight the driver put in an appearance, and a start was
made for the camp, which was reached about 8 o'clock. After being
examined by the medical officer, I was taken on to the hospital and
admitted. The hospital was a low, corrugated iron building, filled with
canvas stretchers, and each patient had to provide his own bedding, which
in many cases was teeming with vermin. The food was wretched and the
attendance worse.

The food consisted principally of hashed-up "Maconochie ration" (a
mysterious kind of tinned meat and vegetables) and boiled rice, with
occasionally a bit of bread in lieu of army biscuits. This would be
placed in the doorway by the cook in a couple of large pots, from which
the patients had to help themselves; those who were unable to get up ran
a risk of getting nothing at all unless they had a comrade to serve them.

There were three or four hospital orderlies, whose time appeared to be
occupied in bossing some half a dozen Kaffir boys. I would have almost
starved if I had not been able to get provisions from outside, which my
comrades purchased for me from the canteen; most of this food was
"commandeered" by the night orderlies while I slept. A wash was a luxury
and a bath unknown. My knee had first been strapped in plaster, then
blistered, and afterwards put in a splint and tightly bandaged, and I was
ordered complete rest. No part of this treatment seemed to do me any
good. After I had been in hospital fifteen days, a Medical Board came and
sat around me, and examined me, and decided to invalid me home to
Australia. I pleaded to be allowed to remain, or sent to the Cape for a
change; but I was informed that it would probably be months before I
would be fit for mounted duty again.

I was taken, with about forty other invalids, and put on board the train.
The accommodation was disgraceful, and the management scandalous. A few
men who had rheumatic fever were helpless and incapable of moving, while
others were debilitated and weakened by malaria and dysentery; all were
indiscriminately herded together in a couple of covered-in trucks,
amongst baggage kit and rations. The rations provided consisted of the
usual boulli beef and biscuits, with a little jam--no "medical comforts,"
not even bread.

There was one carriage on the train that was monopolised by an Imperial
Yeomanry officer and a few of his men, who were being "invalided" home as
useless; in his charge we were sent to the coast. Dr. Kelly, a Victorian
who accompanied us, did all in his power under the circumstances. At
Umtali he arranged for us to be supplied with suitable food from the
railway refreshment rooms, and here we secured a stock for the remainder
of the journey. Another carriage was attached to the train, and four of
us commandeered a compartment, and made ourselves comfortable in a
four-berth sleeper. An Imperial Yeomanry lance-corporal came along, and
affecting a lot of bounce, wanted to eject us, as the room was wanted for
some of his comrades. We told him what we thought of him in good
Australian language, and remained in possession.

Leaving at 7 in the morning, we arrived at Beira at 11 the following
day--running through without a break in the journey, as the broad gauge
railway had been completed. We pulled up in the station yard, as there
were then no platforms to the stations. Our kit and baggage were thrown
out on the metals, and we were turned out to find our way as best we
could to the Beach Hotel, where we were to be billeted. No arrangements
whatever had been made to take us from the station to the hotel, a
distance of about half a mile. After waiting alone for a considerable
time, I hailed a good Samaritan who happened to be passing. He kindly
placed his car and "boys" at my disposal, and put me down at the door of
the hotel just in time for lunch, the first respectable meal I had had
for months.

We remained in Beira three weeks waiting for a boat to Capetown. In the
meantime, under the treatment of Dr. Kelly, my knee had greatly improved,
and during the last week I was able to get about with the assistance of a
stick.

It is said that when one is in Rome one must do as Rome does; the same
applied to Beira. Sports, cricket matches, and bull fights are always
held there on Sunday. On the second Sunday after our arrival, the opening
of the Vasco Da Gama Park, which is prettily situated on a jungly
sand-dune at the back of the town, took place. In the afternoon athletic
sports were held. The most amusing event of the day was the natives'
race, in which between three and four hundred natives of all sorts and
sizes competed; native policemen were stationed round the course, and
frequently used their knob-kerries upon the heads of luckless natives who
tried to take a short cut.

On the Sunday following, a bull fight took place--the ideal sport of the
Spanish and Portuguese nations. It had been much talked about; wild bulls
had been procured, and a splendid day's sport assured. We Australians
thought it rather an amusing farce. The wild bulls turned out to be a
couple of hump-backed native cattle, small under-sized beasts, with very
little spirit about them. One was brought in and pursued round the arena
by a gorgeously-dressed matador, who annoyed and worried the poor brute
by striking it with darts. When at last it turned and showed fight, it
was immediately hustled out of the ring, and another of a milder
disposition brought in. Much of the same by-play was gone through, but
this time the matador, by a quick movement, threw a cloak over the bull's
head, and falling between its horns, was carried round the arena. This
final masterpiece was greeted with wild and vociferous shrieks by the
onlookers.

While staying at the Beach Hotel, I made the acquaintance of Mr. Bill
Upsher, a well-known South African big game hunter; he had just returned
from a trip to England, and was busily engaged in fitting out a shooting
expedition to the Zambesi for an Austrian count. I was extremely anxious
to hear him recount a few of his experiences and hair-breadth escapes,
but, like many whose lives are spent chiefly in the bush, away from
civilisation, and amid surroundings constantly fraught with danger, he
was singularly retiring and taciturn.

In dealing with native prisoners, the Portuguese have rather a novel
method, which is almost a survival of the Marshalsea of Dickens' days.
Convicted natives must provide their own food, which is obtained by the
sale of native work; two natives are chained together with heavy chains,
and, escorted by a native policeman, are allowed to hawk their wares
round the town for sale.

The Beira Constabulary, dressed in their smart khaki uniforms and
Baden-Powell type of hats and armed with cutlass and revolver, are rather
a formidable body of little men. In conversation with one, who could
speak English well, he told me he had been a soldier and had fought in
the Kaffir wars during the early settlement of the town. He became quite
excited when relating his experiences, and stated that "the Kaffirs
swarmed upon us in thousands, and we shot them down in millions! and then
the terrible fever! and the breakdown of the commissariat! We had no food
and were starving, and as a last resource had to eat dead Kaffir. The big
church over the way was built in commemoration of the troops who died
during that terrible war."



CHAPTER V.

THE AUSTRALIANS IN CAPETOWN.

On leaving Beira we embarked on the German mail-boat "Kronprinz" for
Durban, calling en route at Delagoa Bay, where we remained four days
discharging cargo. About 2000 tons were put off, consisting principally
of tinned beef; a few lighter loads of stuff, probably munitions of war,
were prohibited, and had to be put again on the boat. The number of
gunboats lying in the harbour gave it the appearance of a naval station;
several European nations were represented there.

This harbour is one of the finest on the east coast, the river being
navigable for big shipping for nearly twenty miles. The town of Lorenzo
Marques, prettily situated on rising ground on the north side, is a
flourishing little place, and likely from its natural advantages to
become in time the first port of commerce on the east coast. When the
low-lying swamps in the neighbourhood are drained and reclaimed, malaria
will no longer be dreaded, and European children will be able to grow up
there with rosy cheeks.

Our pleasant voyage to Durban was marred by a tragic incident on board.
One day, after the German Band had been playing as usual from the saloon
deck, a bandsman who had received a slight reproof, hastened to his cabin
and blew his brains out with a revolver. The incident appeared to cause
but a momentary flutter; the corpse was wrapped in canvas and weighted
and dropped overboard, almost before it was cold. Next day the matter was
forgotten.

Durban was reached after a run of eight days. The sea was too rough to
cross the bar into the harbour, and we all were well shaken as we were
swung over the side in baskets on to a tender, which took us off to the
landing stage.

We were now transferred to the "Persia," an ancient and rickety-looking
transport, which was lying alongside the wharf. I believe she had broken
her propeller shaft when taking her first load of troops to Africa; she
looked as if she had been at the bottom of the sea for fifty years, and
had been suddenly hauled up and set off when the war broke out. She was a
splendid exhibit from the War Office, whose administrators seemed to us
to consist of a number of gilt-and-tasselled drawing-room knights,
sitting with their feet on velvet pile to consider the binding of a blue
book or to unwind a fresh piece of red tape.

On board the "Persia" there were about 500 other invalids on their way
home; the accommodation and food were in keeping with the rest of the
boat. We remained at Durban for nearly a week, and were allowed to go
ashore during the day; much of my time was spent in "rickshaw" rides. The
"rickshaw" boys, with their grotesque head-dress of feathers and horns,
are fine specimens of the Zulu native; when touting for hire they fairly
besiege a prospective fare, pirouetting and capering round in most
striking attitudes, at the same time informing you that "Me good boy,
boss!" One will go a little better with, "Me very flash boy, boss!" and
start kicking up his heels and shying half-way across the road and back
again. When one is selected, the others with ejaculations of
disappointment return to their stands, ready to charge the next
passer-by.

On Sunday a party of us drove round the Berea to Umgeni, a very pretty
little pleasure resort situated among the hills, and much patronised by
Durbanites; the scenery there was picturesque and pleasing, much of the
country being covered with sugar plantations and orange groves. The
Berea, a chain of hills at the back of the town, is the "Toorak" of
Durban; splendid mansions and pretty villas peep from gardens of
luxuriant tropical growth, and look out upon the town, the harbour, the
Bluff, and the open sea beyond.

Leaving Durban, we arrived at Capetown after a five days' trip, which was
the roughest and worst we had experienced. The "Persia" was a very
narrowly-built boat, and rolled considerably, and a great sigh of relief
went up from many hearts when Lion's Head and Table Mountain were
sighted; we did indeed pity the poor fellows who had the ill-luck to be
invalided home in such a boat.

We landed at South Arm Quay, and were drafted to the different hospitals.
I was among those who went to Green Point Military Hospital, which was
situated at the back of the racecourse. The racecourse was also being
used as a camp for Boer prisoners of war; several thousands were
quartered there.

On reception at the hospital, my kit and clothing were taken into store,
and I was provided with a blue hospital suit, and was told I must not go
outside the hospital grounds. The rules savoured very much of prison
life, and I longed to get away from the place. The following day the
medical officer came to me, and inquired my port of destination, as it
was intended to ship us to Australia by the first out-going boat. I
informed him that I had no wish to return home just yet; my knee had
greatly improved since leaving Rhodesia, and I would probably be fit for
duty again in a few weeks. I requested to be sent to the Australasian
Depot at Maitland camp. This request was granted, and two days later I
was sent there. Though still very lame, I was able to get about and
assist the sergeant-major with the camp duties of the depot.

Shortly afterwards the depot staff was reorganised, and I was appointed
quartermaster-sergeant, an appointment which was in no way a sinecure. I
had more than I could do, and with an assistant was always kept busy
equipping drafts of troops for the front, attending and providing clothes
to invalided men at the military hospitals at Woodstock, Wynberg, Green
Point, and Rondebosch.

Maitland camp was situated about five miles from Capetown, on the left
side of the Salt River, opposite the Observatory; it was the cavalry and
artillery depot of the district, which included the South African Mounted
Irregular Forces and all oversea colonials. The latter when off the veldt
were the most difficult of any troops to deal with; when at the front
they would fight and fight and face grim death without the quiver of a
muscle; but it was almost a hopeless task to try to make them conform to
ordinary barrack-room discipline. I had from 100 to 150 of these men
under me, yet it was impossible to get more than a few on parade for camp
duties.

I was often compelled, though I did it with great reluctance, to place a
number of these men under arrest for insubordination; the effect it had
on them was not worth the trouble. The only time I could rely on getting
a full muster was at "pay parade," which was most religiously attended.
On one occasion the camp regimental sergeant-major required a number of
men and instructed me to parade every available man at once. I
immediately went to the Australians' quarters and shouted, "Fall in for
pay!" This had the desired effect. I secured about fifty, and handed them
over to the regimental sergeant-major, to the surprise and disappointment
of many sick, lame, and tired "soldiers of the King" who had been
disturbed from their afternoon's naps. Vengeance upon me was mooted, and
"tossing in a blanket" suggested. They had been grievously taken in;
their annoyance passed off, however, and in a few days I had the intense
satisfaction of taking them to the docks and embarking them for home. Old
scores were then forgotten, and as the tender put off they gave three
cheers for their sergeant-major, an honour which greatly amused me and
was as much appreciated.

These men were not altogether to blame; they should never have been sent
to Maitland, which was a duty camp. They had been crowded out of the
hospitals as soon as convalescent, and sent there to await embarkation,
instead of being sent to a convalescent depot. They absolutely refused to
mount guard or do picquet and fatigue duties. During this time the
bubonic plague was raging in Capetown, and a plague camp was established
near Maitland. One day the New South Wales Mounted Rifles arrived in camp
from up-country, and while waiting to embark for home were ordered to
furnish guards for the plague camp. A non-commissioned officer refused to
do this duty, and was court-martialled and sentenced to three months'
imprisonment, which he underwent at the Castle Military Prison, Capetown.

This punishment was, I suppose, merited for insubordination; but these
men had been fighting nobly and well at the front, and on the eve of
their departure for home should not have been called upon to do duty at
an infectious disease camp. The day following they would probably be
rushed on to a crowded transport, and scandals similar to that of the
"Drayton Grange," where men died like rotten sheep from an infectious
disease, were inevitable; even a dreaded plague might be scattered
broadcast wherever they might land.

During the plague scare at Capetown a case occurred in the men's quarters
at the Australasian depot. It happened at a most inopportune time, and
the results were disastrous. Preparation had been made to despatch a
batch of invalids home; everything was in readiness, the men had their
kits packed, and were being put through a medical examination prior to
leaving camp, when one man, a New South Wales Artilleryman, was found to
have symptoms of plague. This necessitated the whole of the men being
quarantined and removed from their quarters. A camp under canvas was
formed near the bank of the Salt River; the men were extremely annoyed,
and vented their spite on the offending huts. They armed themselves with
sticks, stones, and a couple of axes, and raided their late quarters.
They smashed every window, broke down the doors, tables, and forms, and
hacked and hewed at the iron walls. In a few minutes the place was almost
demolished, and it was intended to finish up by setting fire to the
ruins, but progress was stopped by the arrest of four of the ringleaders.
These were called upon for the amount of the damages, which was paid
without a murmur. The men afterwards wrecked a newspaper office in
Capetown, the journal published there having passed disparaging remarks
on their previous actions at Maitland, and on Australians generally.

The Canadians were attached to the Australasian depot. These men were
some of the finest irregular soldiers that ever carried a rifle. There
were miners from Klondyke, hunters from the backwoods, troopers from the
Northwest Frontier Police, and included were some of the "hardest cases"
that the land of the maple leaf ever produced; these were past-masters in
the use of unique expletives, and for downright and original profanity it
would hardly be posible to find their equal. An officer would remonstrate
with his men in most candid terms, but for all this they were the men
above all others for a tight place or a desperate enterprise, and they
rigidly adhered to the rule of never allowing their enemies to trouble
them a second time.

The following poem appeared about this time in "The
Navy Illustrated":--

Oh, bitter blew the western wind and chilled us to the bone,
From mountain top to mountain top it made its weary moan,
While we, Strathcona's Horse, rode on, in silence and alone.

The darkness closed around us like a monk's hood gathered tight,
It pressed upon our eyeballs, sealing up the sense of sight,
And mocked us with false flashes of a brain-begotten light.

With straining at the silence grew our hearing thunder-proof;
The moaning blast in vain flung back its echo from the kloof,
The very ground on which we rode struck dumbly to the hoof.

And no man spake, nor dared so much as loose his tethered tongue,
Which else in fevered agony from blackened lips had hung,
But now, with limpet grip compelled, to cheek and palate clung.

Strathcona's Horse had never borne the fear mark on their brow;
The oak sap was their blood--the thews, the supple maple bough;
Their swords were fashioned from the share that shod their prairie
plough.

Then why those white, drawn faces? Why those breasts that strain and heave?
Those eyes that see but darkness? And those tongues that parch and cleave?
It was the tale the Zulu scout brought southward yester eve.

It was the same old tale--the farm, the false white flag, the foe;
And four good British lads that fell where murder laid them low.
Strathcona's Horse their purpose knew--the morning, too, should know.

On! on! there's twenty miles and more between us and the prey,
And still the scout, with bleeding feet, directs our weary way,
And still our eyes strain eastward for the coming of the day.

A dark ravine, whose beetling sides o'erhang the path we tread--
A faint grey line, a spot of light, with shimmering haze o'er-spread--
A wreath of smoke--the farm, the farm, six hundred yards ahead.

But see--the Zulu lied. God bless that faithless, perjured black!
Those British lads died not, but live. On yonder chimney stack
Behold, wrapped in the morning mist, our flag, the Union Jack!

Strathcona's Horse rode forward with a swift Canadian swing,
Their hearts with joy o'erflowing, and the teardrops glistening--Ping!
Halt! What was that? Hell's fury! 'twas the Mauser's deadly ring.

Oh, fathomless the treacherous depths within the Boer breast!
It was the foe had raised that flag above their devil's nest,
While stark and stiff four corpses lay where murder bade them rest.

Strathcona's Horse rode forward, though there fell both horse and man;
They spake no word, but every brain conceived the self-same plan:
Through every vein and nerve and thew the self-same purpose ran.

What though the Mausers raked the line, and tore great gaps between?
What though the thick clay walls stood firm, the ambushed foe to screen?
There was a deed to do, whose like the world had seldom seen.

They stormed the palisades, which crashed beneath their furious stroke;
The doors with staves they battered in, the barricades they broke--
And then they bound the fiends within, with Mausers for a yoke.

Swift to the ending of the deed, yet only half begun,
The daylight grows: there's bloody work still waiting to be done--
Six corpses swing athwart the face of God's own rising sun.

Bury in peace our own dear dead;--then comrades, ride away;
Yet leave a mark that all may know, who hitherward shall stray,
Strathcona's Horse it was that paid a visit here to-day.

'Twas thus Strathcona's Horse left Vengeance sitting by her shrine,
Where six accursed corpses broke the grey horizon line,
Their flesh to feed the vultures, and their bones to be a sign.

I also extract the following from a South African paper published in
April, 1901:--"A member of Strathcona's Horse writes to me of the
gratification felt by that body at having been the first regiment to be
presented with the King's colours in recognition of services rendered on
the field of battle. It is described as a Union Jack of silk, trimmed
with gold, and having gold tassels, and at the top of the staff a gold
crown surmounted by a lion. To the flagstaff is fixed a silver plate,
engraved with a crown and this inscription:--'Presented by His Majesty
the King to Lord Strathcona's Corps, in recognition of services rendered
to the Empire in South Africa--1900.'"

On one occasion, when embarking invalids for Australia on board the
"Persic," which was lying in the roadstead in Table Bay, I met several
old acquaintances. I had been in conversation with them down below for
about ten minutes, when to my great consternation I felt the vibration of
the engines, and found that the "Persic" was on her way to Australia. I
rushed to the bridge and called the captain, and informed him of my
predicament; he stopped the boat, which by this time had passed outside
the breakwater, and hailing a sailing smack that happened to be passing,
I, with no little difficulty, got on board and was landed at the docks
again. A man never knows his fate; what seemed to me then to be a stroke
of ill-luck may have been a visit from my guardian angel in disguise,
for, as subsequent events proved, it would perhaps have been better for
me if the "Persic" had carried me away unawares to Australia.

After being about four months at Maitland camp, I as anxious to rejoin my
regiment. My knee, to all appearance, was perfectly well, and I had got
rid of my lameness, though during this time I had not attempted to ride a
horse. Then Lord Roberts was about to come to Capetown to embark for
home, and I was selected to form one of the escort to meet him on his
arrival. As soon as I began to take mounted exercise my knee again became
troublesome, and my eagerness to take part in the reception cost me
another three months' limping.

Some time after this the camps at Maitland were closed, and the Cavalry,
Artillery, Irregular and Imperial Yeomanry troops were concentrated at
the Military Camp on the Green Point Common. The common was once a
beautiful grassy down, but the traffic of a large camp had so ploughed it
up that it was knee deep in loose sand, and the wind, almost constantly
blowing, carried sand with it everywhere.



CHAPTER VI.

COMMISSIONED IN THE BUSHVELDT CARBINEERS.

About this time I made the acquaintance of Major Lenehan, officer
commanding the Bushveldt Carbineers, and had a conversation with him
regarding a commission in his corps. He told me that he was about to get
a gun section attached to it, and if I could raise a detachment of men he
would give me command. I recruited a number of time-expired Australians,
and several Imperial Royal Horse Artillerymen. On several occasions I
applied for my discharge to enable me to take up my commission, but this
was not permitted until my regiment returned home for disbandment.

In June, 1901, I embarked on the "Orient" at Capetown and rejoined my
regiment at East London. There I received a temporary discharge from the
Victorian Imperial Bushmen. I received a telegraph message from the
O.C.B.V.C., Pietersburg, informing me that my appointment as lieutenant
had been confirmed, and directing me to proceed to Pietersburg with any
men I could get together there. I prevailed upon thirty returning
Australians to remain and join the Carbineers and form the gun
detachment. I had them sworn in and equipped at the local recruiting
depot.

The saddlery issued to these men was practically useless. How any man or
body of men could pass such worthless shoddy is beyond comprehension, and
reflects sadly on the judgment of the Supplies Board. The saddles were
without a vestige of stuffing, and the stirrup-irons were cumbersome
pieces of ironwork, weighing over 7 lbs., and so narrow that an
ordinary-sized boot would not fit into them--just the kind of equipment
to cripple the rider and ruin the horse at the same time. As soon as it
was taken into camp at Pietersburg the whole of it was condemned and
returned to the ordnance stores.

While at East London with a few others, I went one day into a café for
lunch. We met a young fellow there who had come from Gippsland, Victoria.
He had been drinking rather heavily during his stay in the town. He sat
down at the table, and was served with soup; when he had finished he got
up to pay for it and go out. He was not hungry, and did not care for
anything to eat; he only felt thirsty. "How much for the soup?" he
inquired. "Half a crown for the dinner," was the reply. "But I only had a
plate of soup!" "That makes no difference; you pay for the dinner." So he
sat down again and called for more soup. Another and another was called
for, until six plates had been served; then he paid for the dinner, and
went out satisfied that he had had his money's worth, and had not been
"taken down."

On 4th July I left East London en route for Pietersburg. During the day
United States citizens were to be seen in gay attire driving through the
town, displaying little flags of the Stars and Stripes. They were
celebrating their national holiday.

Leaving by the evening mail train with the troops I had recruited, we
reached Queenstown the following morning. Branching off at Stormberg
Junction, we went on to Nauupoort, where the train stabled for the night.
The following day we reached Norval's Pont; we travelled then only in the
daytime, and reached Pretoria on the afternoon of the 11th.

As there was no train to Pietersburg until the following day, I spent a
little time looking round Pretoria, visiting the church square, which is
surrounded by the Government buildings of the late Republic, and in the
centre of which stood the unfinished statue of President Kruger, a
striking parallel to the nation of which he had been the head. I then
visited Kruger's church and residence, with its two white lions guarding
the entrance with silent irony.

Close to the railway station is the public market square, which in days
before the war would be crowded with the waggons and teams of the Boer
farmers, who came to sell or barter their odds and ends of farm produce.
Near by was the Pretoria Museum, containing much-prized relics of their
old voortrekkers, of their earlier wars and Jameson's raid, and specimens
of South African game. This was a great resort of the Boer farmer to
instruct the rising generation in the history of their country. After
admiring the old guns with which they had fought so bravely and so well,
they would turn to a model of one of Donald Currie's liners--"There is
the big ship that brings the rooineks over the sea water." Then, pointing
to an assvogel--"There is the bird that eats the rooineks when we shoot
them like bushbuck on the veldt."

Leaving Pretoria on the morning of the 12th July, we passed Haman's
Kraal, where the previous night there had been some sharp fighting, and
the Dutchmen had got away with a number of cattle; the armoured train
picked us up here and escorted us to Nylstroom, where we remained for the
night. Kitchener's Fighting Scouts were lying alongside the station,
having come in to refit. In the morning I met Major Lenehan, who had
arrived by train from Pietersburg. I paraded my men for inspection, and
was complimented for my efforts in getting together such a fine troop of
men.

Leaving Nylstroom for Pietersburg, we passed a spot at Naboonspruit which
was marked by nineteen fresh graves. Only a few days before a train had
been wrecked there by Boers; an officer, Lieutenant Best, of the Gordon
Highlanders, a personal friend of the late Captain Hunt and Lieutenant
Morant, had been killed, also eighteen men, including the driver,
firemen, and guard of the train. I saw the truck at Warm Baths Station in
which these men were shot down; the iron walls had been about as much
protection from Mauser bullets as a sheet of paper; the truck was riddled
like a sieve. On arrival at Pietersburg, I was met by Lieutenants Edwards
and Baudinet; the latter I had known for some time at Capetown, and a few
months previously I had acted as best man at his wedding.



CHAPTER VII.

THE ORIGIN OF THE CARBINEERS.

Pietersburg is an important town 180 miles north of Pretoria and the
terminus of the railway. After the occupation of Pretoria in June, 1900,
the Boer Government was set up here, and it was not until May, 1901, that
the town was occupied and garrisoned by British troops.

A tragic incident, in which two Tasmanian officers were killed, is
related to have occurred on the day the troops entered Pietersburg. These
two officers were going out to a magazine on the outskirts of the town,
and were sniped at and shot dead by a Dutch schoolmaster who lay hidden
in the long grass. When the troops ran up to see what was the matter,
this gentleman jumped up, and, holding up his hands, shouted, "I
surrender! I surrender! I surrender!" The men walked up to him, and
without hesitation ran a bayonet through his body, and in the heat and
stress of the battlefield this action of the soldiers was applauded.

My duties as an officer of the Carbineers began on 13th July. There was
little to be done, and less to be learned, in the ordinary routine of
camp duty, which consisted principally of attending the stables to see
that the men fed and groomed their horses.

When I had been about a fortnight at Pietersburg Major Lenehan returned
from Pretoria; he had not succeeded in getting guns for his gun section,
and ordered me, much against my inclination, to take over the
quartermaster's duties from Lieutenant Mortimer. I held this position
about a week.

The Bushveldt Carbineers were raised in Capetown and Pretoria early in
1901 for special service in the Northern Transvaal. A Mr. Levy, a
storekeeper at Pienaar's River, who had made some money out of the
Pienaar's River garrison, offered to devote part of his savings towards
the formation of a mounted corps to operate in that district. He
contributed £500; Mr. M. Kelly, merchant, of Pietersburg, also gave £100;
Dr. Neel, of Matapan, Spelonken, £100; a few others also subscribed. It
was orginally proposed to raise 500 men, but not more than 350
constituted the full strength.

The camp and headquarters of the Carbineers formed part of the
Pietersburg garrison, which was made up of the 2nd Wiltshire Regiment,
2nd Gordon Highlanders, a section of the Royal Field Artillery, and a
detachment of the Royal Garrison Artillery, with a 5-in. gun, which was
known throughout the war as a "cow-gun," on account of it being drawn by
oxen. Colonel Hall, C.B., was garrison commandant. The other officers of
the corps stationed at Pietersburg while I was there were Major Lenehan,
Lieutenant and Adjutant Edwards, Lieutenant and Quartermaster Mortimer,
Lieutenant Baudinet, all Australians, and all late members of the first
Australian contingents. There were also Lieutenant Neel, an English
doctor, and Lieutenant Kelly, a Pietersburg merchant.

A detachment of the Carbineers was at Strydspoort, a post about 35 miles
south-east of Pietersburg, and was under the command of Lieutenant H. H.
Morant. Another detachment was at Fort Edward, Spelonken, 90 miles north
from Pietersburg. This detachment was sent there to assist Captain Alfred
Taylor, a special service officer, and was under the command of a captain
of the Carbineers; with him went Lieutenant Handcock, a veterinary
officer.

Major Lenehan was officer commanding the Carbineers, but in reality this
was in rank and name only. The major rarely visited the outposts, which
were practically under the direct control of the officers in charge; he
was a good-natured man, and much attached to his officers.

There has been argument regarding the nationality of Lieutenant Morant,
and the ignominy of his fate has in prejudiced quarters been attached to
Australia. He was, however, born in England and reared as an English
gentleman, coming to Australia in manhood. There he was engaged in
various bush avocations, especially in droving and breaking horses; hence
the pen-name of "The Breaker," by which he became known as a popular
writer of verses. He went to the war with an Australian contingent; a
good fellow, one could not help liking him, yet he was very hot-headed,
and usually did things on the impulse of the moment. He exacted strict
obedience, and obtained it, where others holding a much higher rank might
have failed.

Captain Taylor was a special officer of the Intelligence Department, and
worked the wild and isolated part of the Transvaal around Spelonken. He
was an Irishman by birth, but had lived a number of years in Africa among
the natives; he had been a lieutenant in Plumer's Scouts in the Matabele
War, and had command of a corps of Cape boys. He had been selected and
sent to the Spelonken by Lord Kitchener, on account of his knowledge of
the natives. As far as the natives were concerned, he had a free hand and
the power of life and death; he was known and feared by them from the
Zambesi to the Spelonken, and was called by them "Bulala," which means to
kill, to slay. He had the power to order out a patrol when he required
it, and it was generally understood that he was the officer commanding at
Spelonken. At the trials of the officers later on he admitted in evidence
that he had held this position.



CHAPTER VIII.

WHAT LED TO THE TROUBLE.

The officer who had command of the detachment of Carbineers assisting
Captain Taylor was, as it appeared, altogether unfit to command such a
body of men, and allowed his detachment to drift into a state of
insubordination verging on mutiny. The men did almost as they liked, and
horses and other captured stock were being divided amongst themselves,
while stills on neighbouring farms were freely made use of. According to
the evidence taken at the court martial (which is extracted from a
summary that appeared in the "Times," 18th April, 1902), Captain Taylor
on 2nd July, 1901, received intelligence that a party of six armed Boers
were going into the camp to surrender. The officers in charge decided to
intercept these men, and not allow them to come in; they would send out a
patrol and have them ambushed and shot. After a good deal of argument, a
sergeant-major paraded a patrol, headed by a sergeant. The men were told
to go out and meet the waggon in which were the six Boers; they were to
make the Boers fight, and on no account were these to be brought in
alive; if the white flag was put up the men were to take no notice of it,
just fire away until all the Boers were shot. This, I afterwards learned,
was the correct interpretation of the orders not to take prisoners.

The patrol went out, met the six Boers, and opened fire on them. The
Boers at once put up the white flag and made a great noise; so, thinking
there might be women and children in the waggon, the patrol ceased firing
and went to look, but as there were only six men, they were taken out and
shot. It has been stated that these men had a large sum of money in their
possession, but the money was all a myth. I never heard of any money
being taken from them. The Boers invariably buried their money for
safety, and I have no doubt large sums of money still remain buried in
different parts of the Transvaal.

The next incident of note which occurred was the shooting of a trooper of
the Fort Edward detachment, and it is here that Lieutenant Handcock first
appears in connection with the troubles of the Carbineers. Handcock was
an Australian, and was never the bloodthirsty desperado that (after he
had been shot) he was made out to be; he was simply the chosen tool of
unprincipled men, who held the power to command. He was born and reared
to bush pursuits, and was a hard worker; if he was not doctoring the back
of a worn-out horse, he was at the forge shoeing. He never initiated any
outrage, but he had a keen sense of duty, and could be absolutely relied
upon to fulfil it. He had been seen under fire many times, and there
never was a braver man. The trooper who had been shot was a Boer, and he
had been allowed to become a member of the Carbineers, but there were
strong suspicions that he was acting the traitor. There were a number of
prisoners in the camp, and this trooper frequently absented himself,
while on one occasion he was seen and heard pointing out among his
comrades the men who had despatched his six unfortunate countrymen.

No officer was ever brought to trial for having this man shot, but Major
Lenehan was charged with having failed to report his death, and for this
he was reprimanded. A report had been sent in, which had been "edited" by
the three officers immediately concerned, and it was made to appear that
this trooper had been shot in a brush with the Boers. This was stated at
the court-martial to have been done in the interest of the corps. About
this time the officer in charge of the detachment requested to be
recommended for the Distinguished Service Order in recognition of his
services.

Later on an allegation was made by a lady against an officer in the
Spelonken district, and, upon inquiries being made by the authorities at
Pietersburg, he was recalled, and was given the option of standing his
trial at a court-martial or resigning his commission. He sent in his
resignation, and left the corps.

Captain Taylor was afterwards tried by court-martial for having ordered
the shooting of the six Boers. Captain Robertson elected to turn King's
evidence. Taylor was promptly acquitted, as he was also on the charge of
shooting a native. A late brother officer informed me that after Morant
and Handcock had been shot, and I had become "the guest of the nation"
for an indefinite period, Captain Taylor was promoted to another
important position in the Transvaal.



CHAPTER IX.

DEATH OF CAPTAIN HUNT.--MORANT'S REPRISALS.

When Captain Robertson was recalled from Fort Edward, Captain Hunt, who
was on special duty in Pretoria, and had formerly held a commission in
the 10th Hussars, was sent to supersede him. Captain Hunt was accompanied
by Lieutenants Morant and Hannam, an Australian; Lieutenant Picton, an
Englishman, afterwards joined them. I was not personally acquainted with
Captain Hunt, but evidently he had been held in high esteem by officers
and men alike, and he was always referred to by them as a fine fellow and
a thorough "white man."

Lieutenant Picton took with him a convoy, with regimental stores, among
which was a quantity of rum for the use of the troops; on the way out
some of the men looted this, and what they did not drink they hid away.
After their arrival at Fort Edward they would periodically leave, and
return to the fort in a state of intoxication. This led to Captain Hunt
placing several of them under arrest for insubordination, and also for
threatening to shoot Lieutenant Picton. At night these men broke their
arrest and rode into Pietersburg. Captain Hunt sent in a report, and made
charges of a serious nature against them to Major Lenehan, who caused
them to be again placed under arrest, pending court-martial proceedings.
Upon a preliminary inquiry being made as to their conduct, they made
disclosures regarding what was going on at Spelonken. When the matter was
brought before Colonel Hall, C.B., garrison commandant, it was decided in
the interests of all concerned to discharge them from the regiment and
let them go. To these men may be credited the monstrous and extravagant
statements and lying reports about the Carbineers which appeared later in
the English and colonial press.

After the preliminary courts of inquiry held some time after this into
the charges against officers of the Carbineers, and before the
courts-martial were held, Colonel Hall was suddenly recalled by the War
Office, relieved of his command, and sent out of the country to India.

Captain Hunt found affairs in a very disorganised state at Fort Edward,
and immediately set about to rectify them. He had the stock collected and
handed over to the proper authorities, and the stills broken up. These
reforms were carried out by Lieutenants Morant and Handcock, and this was
one of the reasons why these two officers were disliked (or "detested,"
as a returned Carbineer put it) by certain members of the detachment.

It was decided at this time to send twenty additional men out to Captain
Hunt, with Lieutenant Baudinet in command, but owing to an accident which
that officer had met with while playing polo, he was unable to go, and I
was selected in his place.

I left Pietersburg on 3rd August with Sergeant-Major Hammett and twenty
men, and arrived at Fort Edward the following evening. Lieutenant Hannam
met me some distance out from the fort, and accompanied me in. He
introduced me to Lieutenants Morant and Handcock. This was the first time
I had met these officers.

Lieutenant Picton was away at Chinde with a patrol, and Captain Hunt was
away with another party in the Majajes district. He was killed on the
night of 5th August, 1901, when making an attack upon Commandant
Viljoen's farmhouse at Duival's Kloof, a spot about 80 miles east of Fort
Edward. Captain Hunt had with him only a small party of his own men,
seventeen in number, as he had been informed by natives that there were
only twenty Boers in occupation of the farmhouse; he had with him also a
number of armed natives.

It was stated at times during the war by those in authority that the
natives were not permitted to take any part in the fighting, but such was
not the case. During the time I was in the Spelonken district with the
Carbineers the natives were twice raised, and it has been openly stated
that, with the connivance of others, when Colonel Grenfell went through
the district, he had thousands of these savages, who were fed and paid,
attached to his column, and they committed the most hideous atrocities,
which no one has yet been made to account for.

The natives would follow a patrol like a flock of vultures, armed with
all kinds of weapons, from a cowhide shield and bundle of assegais to the
latest pattern of rifle. They were worse than useless in action. They
might fire one shot, but would then clear out and hide in the long grass
until the fighting was over, appearing again on the scene to loot and
plunder everything they could lay their hands on.

It was the intention of Captain Hunt to rush the farmhouse at night, and
surprise the Boers, but the Boers surprised the patrol, and instead of
only twenty, there were fully eighty in possession. On making the attack,
they were met by a withering fire. At the first volley the natives turned
and fled, and I was told by an eye witness that some of the uniforms of
Hunt's attacking party could be seen beating a hasty retreat with them.

Captain Hunt and two sergeants reached the house, and commenced firing
through the windows. They shot down several of the Boers, Commandant
Viljoen being amongst them. Captain Hunt was himself then shot in the
breast, and fell off the verandah to the ground, where he lay moaning. He
was seen by one of his sergeants, who could not render him any assistance
on account of the continuous firing from the house and from their own men
behind. Sergeant Eland was also shot dead; he was the son of a local
settler, whose farm adjoined Reuter's Mission Station. He had formerly
been a member of the Natal Carbineers, and had seen much service on the
Natal side at the outbreak of the war. He subsequently joined the
Bushveldt Carbineers, and was killed within a few miles of his own home,
where he was taken and buried.

Towards morning the Carbineers withdrew to Reuter's Mission Station,
about five miles away, and from there despatched a message to Fort
Edward, reporting the loss of Captain Hunt and Sergeant Eland, and asking
to be reinforced without delay.

Early on Wednesday morning the news reached Fort Edward, and its effect
upon Morant was terrible; instead of being the usual gay, light-hearted
comrade whom I had known for three days, he became like a man demented.
He ordered out every available man to patrol before Captain Taylor at his
office at Sweetwaters Farm, about one mile from the fort.

Morant tried to address the troops, but broke down, and Captain Taylor
then spoke a few words to them, urging them to avenge the death of their
captain, and "give no quarter." Guides and intelligence agents were
furnished by Taylor, and the patrol started off with Morant in command.
We travelled across country, and took the most direct route to Reuter's
Station. When we were about twenty miles out, we met Lieutenant Picton
returning, with a number of prisoners, who were, by the order of
Lieutenant Morant, handed over to a small escort, and sent on to Fort
Edward. Picton and the remainder of his men were attached to the patrol.
This was my first meeting with Lieutenant Picton.

We hurried on, and made a forced march, off-saddling every four hours or
so to give the horses a rest, and then on again. At times the guide, who
was a German, would lose his way, and a halt would be called. Morant, who
was in no mood to be trifled with, and thought he was doing it on
purpose, would rage and curse and upbraid and threaten him, until he
became afraid of his life.

By nightfall we had covered more than 40 miles, and then put up at a
native kraal to give the horses a feed and wait until the moon rose. Here
one of the intelligence agents left us to gather up an army of natives.
By the faint light of a new moon, we started at one o'clock in the
morning, and had much difficulty in finding our way, our guide
continually misleading us. Once, in crossing a swampy stream, he missed
the ford, and horses and men were floundering about in a deep muddy bog,
several of the latter getting a dirty morning dip.

By midday we reached the Letaba Valley, in the Majajes Mountains,
inhabited by a powerful tribe of natives once ruled by a princess said to
be the prototype of Rider Haggard's "She." One huge, brawny native
recalled to me Allan Quartermain's doughty old warrior Umslopogaas.

Passing along the valley, through some of the most rugged landscape
secnery in South Africa, we reached Reuter's Mission Station about four
in the afternoon. Here we met the men of Captain Hunt's patrol; they had
just one hour before buried their captain. After visiting his grave, we
returned to Mr. Reuter's house, where Lieutenant Morant interrogated
several men regarding Captain Hunt's death. They were all positive that
he had met with foul play; they were sure his neck had been broken, as
his head was rolling limply about in the cart when he was being brought
in. His face had been stamped upon with hob-nailed boots, and his legs
had been slashed with a knife; the body was stripped completely of
clothes and lying in a gutter when found. Mr. Reuter and Captain Hunt's
native servant, Aaron, who had washed and laid out his body for burial,
corroborated these statements.

This convinced Morant that his brother officer and best friend had been
brutally murdered; he vowed there and then that he would give no quarter
and take no prisoners. He had ignored his orders to this effect in the
past, but he would carry them out in the future. I was informed that
Captain Hunt had paraded his officers and sergeants, and told them that
he had direct orders from headquarters at Pretoria not to take prisoners.
Morant repeated these orders to me as they were given to him by Captain
Hunt.

We remained at the Mission Station waiting for runners to come in from
the intelligence agents, who had been watching the movements of the
Boers. At daybreak in the morning, news came that they had vacated the
farmhouse at Duival's Kloof, and were trekking away towards the
Waterberg. They had a clear day's start of us, but we went off with about
forty-five men, leaving a few behind to guard the Mission Station, which
the Boers had threatened to bum down over Mr. Reuter's head because our
troops had been harboured there.

Morant rode at the head, gloomy and sullen, and eager to overtake the
retreating enemy. I was in command of the rearguard. We rode hard all
day, only resting once to give the horses a handful of mealies we had
brought with us. Just at sunset the advance guard sighted the Boers, who
had laagered for the night in a hollow at the foot of a chain of kopjes.
Morant was excited and eager to make an attack. He sent Lieutenant Picton
with a party of men on the right flank, but to Morant, in his excitement,
the moments seemed hours. Before Picton could get his men into position,
and just as I arrived at the foot of the kopje with the rearguard, Morant
opened fire on the laager. I dismounted my men and hastened to the top.
Looking down, I could see the camp fires and hear the Boers crying out,
"Allamachta! Allamachta" ("God Almighty!"), and shouting to each other in
great consternation. Ceasing fire, we moved on rapidly, and rushed the
laager, only to find that the Boers had jumped on their horses and ridden
away, leaving behind their waggons, blankets, and everything they
possessed. Several dead and wounded horses were lying about, and
underneath a waggon we found a Boer wounded in the heel. Lieutenant
Morant insisted that he should be shot on the spot, but he was prevailed
upon not to do this, as the firing might attract the Boers, who nearly
doubled us in number, and it was necessary to withdraw to a safe position
for the night. A Cape cart with mules inspanned was found in the laager;
the prisoner, Visser by name, was put in it, and all drew back to a
neighbouring kopje, where we bivouacked.

Although tired out, there was no possibility of any sleep, as it was
necessary to keep on the qui-vive in case the Beers should pay us a
surprise visit. Outposts had to be visited to see that the men were on
the alert. The night was intensely, cold, and we had had nothing to eat
since leaving the mission station. We had travelled with stripped saddles
to make it as light as possible for the horses. On this march I found
strong coffee very sustaining, and I have often travelled all day on an
occasional cup of this beverage.

Early the following morning a native runner brought a message to Morant
from Fort Edward requesting him to return with all speed. The fort, with
only a few men in charge, was in danger of being attacked by a party of
Boers who were in the neighbourhood. Our horses were about knocked up, so
Morant decided to give up the pursuit of the Boers and return to the
fort. Before setting out, he examined and questioned Visser, and found in
his possession articles of clothing, a tunic called a "British Warm," and
a pair of trousers which he identified as the property of the late
Captain Hunt. He informed me and others that the first time we outspanned
he would have Visser shot.

After burning the waggons and collecting the oxen, we started on our
homeward journey, I, as before, following with the rearguard.

About 11 o'clock the patrol halted near Mameheila, on the Koodoo River. A
beast was slaughtered here, and I broke my fast on a very tough piece of
trek-ox steak. During the morning Lieutenants Morant and Handcock had
discussed Visser's position, and had decided to shoot him as soon as we
halted. Upon my arrival with the rearguard, Morant came to me and again
informed me that it was his intention to have Visser shot. "This man," he
said, "has been concerned in the murder of Captain Hunt; he has been
captured wearing British uniform, and I have got orders direct from
headquarters not to take prisoners, while only the other day Lord
Kitchener sent out a proclamation to the effect that all Beers captured
wearing khaki were to be summarily shot." I asked him to leave me out of
it altogether, as I did not know anything about the orders, I had been
such a short time there. Morant then walked away, and ordered
Sergeant-Major Clarke to fall-in ten men for a firing party. Some of the
men objected, and the sergeant-major came and asked me if I would speak
to Morant on behalf of those men.

I went to Morant as requested, but found him obdurate. "You didn't know
Captain Hunt," he said, "and he was my best friend; if the men make any
fuss, I will shoot the prisoner myself." After a little delay, men
volunteered--"to get a bit of our own back," one remarked. Lieutenant
Picton was placed in command of the firing party, and Visser was shot.

I did not witness the execution or take any part whatever in it. To the
best of my knowledge this was the first prisoner shot by the order of
Lieutenant Morant, and the motive for the execution was purely that of
retaliation for an outrage committed upon a British officer.

War is calculated to make men's natures both callous and vengeful, and
when civilised rules and customs are departed from on one side, reprisals
are sure to follow on the other, and the shocking side of warfare in the
shape of guerilla tactics is then seen. At such a time it is not fair to
judge the participants by the hard and fast rules of citizen life or the
strict moral codes of peace. It is necessary to imagine one's self amidst
the same surroundings--in an isolated place, with the passions of war
aroused, men half-starved, dangers constantly threatening from all
quarters, and responsibilities crowding one upon another--to enable a
fair decision to be reached.

The intelligence agent, who had left us to raise the natives, now
returned with several hundred savages, but as their services were not now
required, they were fed, and, when they had held a war dance, were
dispersed. Continuing our homeward journey, we arrived at Hay's store, 18
miles from Fort Edward, about midnight, and rested there until daylight.

Mr. Hays was a British trader, and with his wife and family kept a store
in a wild part of the Spelonken. He was well-known for his hospitality to
our troops. After our departure a party of marauding Boers, who knew of
this, swooped down upon him, and looted him of everything he possessed,
even dragging the wedding ring from his wife's finger.

There were numerous bands of these marauders in the district roving
about, commandeering all they could lay their hands upon, wrecking
trains, or doing any bushranging job that presented itself to them. When
they were nearly starved, or sick, they would come in and surrender, and
get fed up and looked after until well again, when they would take the
first opportunity of breaking away and making a fresh start.



CHAPTER X.

BY ORDER--"NO QUARTER!"

Upon arrival at Fort Edward on Sunday morning, we learned that a convoy
had arrived the previous day from Pietersburg, in charge of Lieutenant
Neel--just in time to assist Captain Taylor and the few men who had been
left in driving back a strong force of Boers who had come up close to the
fort. There had been some sharp fighting, one Carbineer had been wounded,
and several horses shot. It was here that Captain Taylor shot a Kaffir
for refusing to give him information regarding the movements of the
Boers, for which act later on he was tried and acquitted.

Lieutenant Neel remained at the fort for some days, and upon his return
to Pietersburg was accompanied by Lieutenant Picton, who reported to the
commanding officer and also to the commandant the whole of the facts
regarding the shooting of Visser. No action was taken, not even a notice
or message was sent intimating that such practices were to be
discontinued. This tended to convince me that the orders and the
interpretation of the orders regarding prisoners as transmitted to me by
Lieutenant Morant were authentic, and that such proceedings were not only
permitted, but were approved of by the headquarters authorities.

After our return to the fort, it was decided to send a small detachment
of the Carbineers to occupy and work round Reuter's Mission Station. I
asked Lieutenant Morant to send me in charge, but he ultimately sent
Lieutenant Hannam, as he said I was not sufficiently acquainted with the
district. He added that in a month he would recall Hannam and send me in
his place.

Lieutenant Hannam captured a large number of prisoners and sent them in
to Fort Edward. I can explain here how those infamous rumours gained
currency as to the shooting of children by the Carbineers. A patrol of
Lieutenant Hannam's men were out making a reconnaissance, when they
suddenly came upon a Boer laager and opened fire. They heard women and
children screathing, and ceased firing. Upon taking the laager they found
that a child had been shot and two little girls slightly wounded.

I afterwards escorted these prisoners to Pietersburg, and in conversation
with the parents of the children they told me that they in no way
reproached Lieutenant Hannam or his men for what had happened; they were
themselves to blame for running away from their waggons when called upon
to surrender. This is the only foundation for the wicked reports as to
the wholesale shooting of women and children by the Carbineers.

The day following Lieutenant Hannam's departure to the Mission Station,
which was the 22nd August, a report reached Fort Edward that eight
prisoners were being brought in. On the following morning Lieutenant
Morant came to me and requested me to accompany him on patrol.

A patrol subsequently set out, consisting of Lieutenants Morant,
Handcock, and myself, Sergeant-Major Hammett (who had gone out with me to
the Spelonken), and two troopers. We first called at the office of
Captain Taylor. Morant dismounted and had a private interview with that
officer; I was not informed as to the nature of it. I was not then on
intimate terms with Lieutenant Morant; I had only met him for the first
time a fortnight previously as my superior officer, and had recognised
him as such, and during that fortnight I had been frequently away from
the fort.

We went on, and Morant said that it was his intention to have the
prisoners shot. Both myself and Sergeant-Major Hammett asked Morant if he
was sure he was doing right. He replied that he was quite justified in
shooting the Boers; he had his orders, and he would rely upon us to obey
him. I also afterwards remonstrated with him for having the prisoners
brought in and shot so close to the fort, but he said it was a matter of
indifference where they were shot.

We met the patrol with the prisoners about six miles out. Morant at once
took charge, and instructed the escort to go on ahead as advance guard.
The prisoners were ordered to inspan and trek on to the fort. I rode on
in front of the waggon, and I did not see any civilian speak to the
prisoners as we were passing the mission hospital. When we had trekked on
about three miles Morant stopped the waggon, called the men off the road,
and questioned them. Upon his asking, "Have you any more information to
give?" they were shot. One of them, a big, powerful Dutchman, made a rush
at me and seized the end of my rifle, with the intention of taking it and
shooting me, but I simplified matters by pulling the trigger and shooting
him. I never had any qualms of conscience for having done so, as he was
recognised by Ledeboer, the intelligence agent, as a most notorious
scoundrel who had previously threatened to shoot him, and was the head of
a band of marauders. By just escaping death in this tragedy I was
afterwards sentenced to suffer death.

I went on with the men, and we took with us the waggon and belongings,
which we handed over to Captain Taylor. I then went on to the fort.
Morant and Handcock remained behind to make arrangements for the burial
of the bodies. About an hour afterwards Morant came in; a few minutes
later he noticed a hooded buggy drawn by a pair of mules coming along the
road at the foot of the fort, and going in the direction of Pietersburg.
He immediately jumped on a horse, and rode down to see who it was, as no
one was allowed to travel about the country without first getting
permission to do so. When he returned he informed me that it was a
missionary from Potgeiter's Rust returning home, and that he held a pass
signed by Captain Taylor. Morant said that he had advised the missionary
to wait until a convoy returned to Pietersburg, but he decided that he
would go on alone. Morant then went away to see Captain Taylor. In the
meantime Lieutenant Handcock returned, had his breakfast, and also went
away again.

I have no idea of their subsequent movements, for being tired out I went
to my bungalow, and slept until lunch time. I lunched alone, which was
not unusual, but Morant and Handcock returned in the evening for dinner.
During this repast the guard reported that rockets were being sent up in
the direction of Bristow's farm, about one mile away. Morant took them
for distress signals, and ordered the troops to stand to arms. Within
twenty minutes a patrol of forty mounted men had the farm-house
surrounded, but, much to the chagrin of Morant, it was found that the
"signals" were a few rockets that had been thoughtlessly let off to amuse
the children at the farm.

Nearly a week later, I, with Lieutenant Morant, was at Captain Taylor's
office, when a neighbour came in and said there was a rumour abroad that
a missionary had been killed on the road at Bandolier Kopjes, about 15
miles from Fort Edward, the most dangerous spot on the road to
Pietersburg. I at once volunteered to take out a patrol and investigate.
I was not permitted to go as far as Bandolier Kopjes, but was sent with
half a dozen men to a farm-house five miles out to get what information I
could, and was given orders by Lieutenant Morant not to go any further.
Upon arrival at the farm I could glean nothing. I had all the natives
brought up and questioned, but they did not know anything. I then went
along the road to several kraals, but could get no news; I met a native
post-boy with the mails from Pietersburg, and questioned him, but he knew
nothing and had seen nothing along the road.

I then returned to the Fort, and on the way back met Taylor and Morant. I
informed them of my inability to get any further information, and
expressed to them my opinion that it was only a Kaffir yarn.

Two days later, however, Lieutenant Handcock was sent out to Bandolier
Kopjes with a strong patrol to make a further search, and discovered the
body of the missionary, his buggy, and his mules, some distance off the
road. There was every indication that he had met his death by foul play.
He had been shot in the breast, probably whilst sitting in his buggy; the
mules, taking fright, had galloped off the road, throwing the missionary
out as they travelled along. The buggy was found jammed between some
trees and a telegraph post, with the pole broken. The mules had freed
themselves, and were feeding about harnessed together. Lieutenant
Handcock made arrangements for the burial of the missionary, and returned
to the Fort, taking the mules with him.

Much of my work while at Fort Edward consisted of escorting convoys with
prisoners and refugees, who were being sent into the concentration camps
at Pietersburg. I took them half way, and then handed them over to a
patrol sent out from Pietersburg. During these trips I came in contact
with many of the "Boers of the Veldt," or the Dopper class. I would often
take a cup of coffee with them, and as many of them could speak a little
English, they would pour out all their troubles to me. The women folk
were eager to learn all about the refugee camp, asking would they be
provided with food and clothing, and would the "Englisher" "give them
schoens for the kinder?" This is the class of people that predominates in
South Africa, and in my opinion there must be generations of purging,
educating, and civilising before they will be capable of taking part in
national life. They appear habitually to shun water, and never undress;
as they go to bed, so they get up again--dirty, untidy, and unwashed.

On one of these trips I became acquainted with a Dutchman who was
employed by us as a transport rider. He had been fighting for his country
at the outbreak of the war, but, tiring of it, had surrendered, and was
afterwards employed by the Army Service Corps. In recounting his
experience, he said that when he was first called out on commando he
thought the war would only last a couple of months, as they would soon
drive every Englishman out of the country. When leaving home he had
promised his children that when he returned he would take them back a
"little Englisher," which they could keep in a box, and feed on mealies
and oats.

After the first great reverses, this man and many more would have
surrendered but for the lying statements made to them by their predikants
and commandants, who would harangue them from a trek waggon with
statements that thousands of English had been repulsed and driven into
the sea; that foreign powers had sent assistance and had already landed;
that the Boers' homes had been desolated, and that their wives and
daughters in the refugee camps were being outraged, and distributed
amongst the soldiers with their daily issue of rations. The effect of
these speeches was to make the men fight on more doggedly and bitterly
than ever, and it is not wonderful that the rules and customs of
civilised war were sometimes departed from.

The same man also told me that Kruger owed him £500 for the time he had
been fighting with the Boers, and for the use of his waggon and oxen, and
he asked me if I thought the English Government would pay him this
amount.

Much has been said and written regarding the concentration camps and
their management. I was in personal contact with some of the people who
went into them, and I am certain that these, at least, were never as well
off before as when there. It was stated that unsanitary conditions
existed, and I can sympathise with the people who tried to make those
conditions better. The task would be, I think, an impossible one, as most
of the camp inmates had lived all their lives without even knowing what
sanitation or cleanliness meant. Perhaps the mortality amongst children
was greater in the camps than on the farms, especially if an epidemic of
measles or diphtheria occurred, as the children mixed more with each
other, and it would be difficult to isolate all cases; or perhaps there
were more opportunities for a death to excite attention than there would
be on a farm far out on the veldt. The majority of the inmates looked
upon camp-life as a picnic. A few who had lived a sort of gipsy life
previously were discontented, and anxious to start roving again;
otherwise there was no cause for complaint.



CHAPTER XI.

MORANT'S CREDITABLE EXPLOIT.

About a fortnight after the finding of the body of the missionary, and
while I was away from Fort Edward on convoy escort, three armed Boers
were reported coming in. Upon Lieutenant Morant being informed, he went
out, taking with him Lieutenant Handcock and two men. These Boers were
met and shot.

The same day Major Lenehan arrived at Fort Edward from Pietersburg; he
found the merry-hearted Morant, whom he had known for a number of years,
a changed man. He was now gloomy and morose, and was still brooding over
the manner of the death of Captain Hunt. Morant fancied that if he had
been out with Hunt it would not have happened. The major thought, as did
others, that Morant's mind had become unhinged with grief.

When I returned from Pietersburg, about two days later, I learned that
two strong forces of Boers were reported in the district, and the outlook
at Fort Edward was not a bright one.

Field-Cornet Torn Kelly, a notorious Boer Irregular leader, and a great
fighter, was moving in from the Portuguese territory, and it was reported
that he had several guns with him. Commandant Beyers, with a strong
force, was threatening on another side. Morant had been wishing for
months for a chance to capture Tom Kelly, and he now entreated Major
Lenehan to allow him to go in pursuit. The major hesitated for some time,
but finally gave permission to go. This brightened Morant up
considerably.

On Monday, 16th September, Morant and myself left the Fort with thirty
men in search of Kelly, proceeding in the direction of the Birthday Mine.
We arrived there three days later, and waited for the scouts to come in
and report the locality of Kelly's laager. Early on Saturday morning we
started off again. Owing to the rough nature of the country we would have
to travel over, we decided to leave behind all stores, taking with us
only two days' rations, intending to live after that on any game we could
shoot. Pushing on, we reached Banniella's (Kaffir) Kraal, within two
miles of Kelly's laager, and about 150 miles from Fort Edward, late on
Sunday evening. We dismounted, and left our horses here. The natives in
formed us that Kelly had been there that day drinking palm wine with
them, and had only left a couple of hours before; he had told them that
if a thousand Englishmen came to his laager he would wipe them all out.

After warning the natives under penalty of death not to move away from
the kraal, we proceeded on foot to the laager, which we reached at
midnight. The camp was situated in a small clearing, among dense scrub,
on the bank of the Thsombo River, and close to the Portuguese border.
Halting within 300 yards of it, Morant and an intelligence agent named
Constanteon made a careful reconnaisance, leaving me in charge of the
men, some of whom were so fatigued that they almost immediately fell
asleep.

One man, hearing a noise in the bush and leaves rustling, reported to me
that he had seen a lion, and asked if he could shoot it. I knew that if
we were successful in securing the lion we would lose Kelly, so I
peremptorily ordered him to preserve strict silence until the laager was
taken.

Morant returned shortly after, having found out the exact situation of
the waggons and surroundings. He divided the patrol into three parties,
and posted one on the right flank with Serjeant-Major Hammett, about 150
yards off; he and I took the others into the river bed, which ran under a
steep bank around the waggons. The night was intensely cold, but we lay
there within 50 yards of them until the first streak of dawn. During the
night a dog scented us and started to bark; a Boer got up and gave it a
kick to quieten it, at which Morant remarked, "A man never knows his luck
in South Africa."

About four o'clock a Kaffir got up and lit a fire to make early morning
coffee. We then charged the camp, shouting "Hands up" in the nearest
approach to Dutch at our command. The Boers were taken completely by
surprise. As there were women there we refrained from shooting. Morant
rushed to Kelly's tent, and called upon him to surrender, and when he
showed his head through the doorway he was looking straight down the
barrel of Morant's rifle. The others, as they rolled from under the
waggons, put up their hands very sulkily, while we collected the rifles.

Kelly was a fine type of a man, over six feet in height, and about 55
years of age; his father was an Irishman and his mother a Dutch woman.
When I saw him again he was sitting in a Boer chair beside the fire; it
had completely staggered him to realise that he was a prisoner, he who
had boasted so often that he would give every Englishman a warm reception
who came after him, and he had been taken without an opportunity of
making the slightest resistance. The talk about the guns was all bluff.
One of our troopers went up and asked him, "Where are the big guns?" He
replied, snappishly, "Don't talk to me, young man, I'm a prisoner."

After collecting all the prisoners, we got together all the arms and
ammunition, which were nearly all British, and sent a party back to the
kraal for the horses. We then spanned in the oxen, and started on our
return journey to Fort Edward. As the country was very rough, and there
were no roads, it took us four days to get back to the Birthday Mine.
When we outspanned on the third night the horse-guard reported several
horses missing. My own spare horse being amongst them, on the following
morning I left the convoy and returned with three men to the site of the
previous outspan, and after scouring the country all day found the
missing horses. We got back late the same night to the place we had
started from in the morning; we had used up all our rations, and had been
living for the last four days on what we could shoot in the way of game.
Leaving before daylight, we reached the Birthday Mine about 10 a.m.;
finding the caretaker at home, four hungry men made great havoc upon his
stock of provisions, besides commandeering his mealies for our horses.
After a short rest we hurried on to overtake the convoy, which we came up
with late in the evening, having travelled 60 miles since morning; the
last 70 miles was covered in two days, as we feared that Commandant
Beyers, who was in the district, would try to intercept us.

Our rate of travelling with ox teams surprised the Dutchmen. Ten miles a
day is their average trek, so that 35 and 40 miles a day was naturally
regarded by them as a "bi goed trek" (very great trek).

When we arrived at Fort Edward two of Kelly's daughters left the waggon.
I asked them where they were going. They replied, "Home to get the house
ready"--not knowing that their home was now a heap of ruins. I could not
tell them, as I knew the effect it would have on them.

After fighting in the earlier stages of the war, Commandant Kelly had
returned to his farm, which was situated about half a mile from Fort
Edward. As soon as the Carbineers went to the district, he went off again
on trek with his family rather than surrender. There were a number of
other farmers living quietly around there. They had been frequently
visited by Boer commandos, and all their horses and mealies or maize corn
that could be found had been commandeered.

From the time we left in search of Kelly to our return to Fort Edward was
exactly a fortnight; his pursuit and capture was the last official
military duty of Lieutenant Morant. He received the following message
from Colonel Hall:--"Very glad to hear of your success, and should like
to have an account of what must have been a good bit of work."

Morant's career in South Africa was adorned by not a few actions such as
this, but accounts of them were never published broadcast to his credit,
to balance the stories scattered to his detriment.

After handing over Kelly's commando intact to the Pietersburg
authorities, Morant was granted a fortnight's leave, and went to
Pretoria. Just about this time Captain Taylor was recalled. Three weeks
later Morant's detachment was relieved at Fort Edward, and returned to
Pietersburg. On 21st October Major Lenehan, myself, Lieutenant Handcock,
and all non-commissioned officers and men who had been on service in the
district left Spelonken, and arrived at Fort Klipdan, 15 miles out of
Pietersburg, on the evening of the 22nd.

The following morning we made an eventful entry into the garrison. I was
riding ahead with the advance guard, and when about three miles from the
town I was met by two mounted officers, who inquired if I was Lieutenant
Witton. Upon replying in the affirmative, they informed me that the
garrison commandant wished to see me. One of the officers accompanied me
into Pietersburg, and took me direct to the commandant's office, where I
met Major Neatson, staff officer to Colonel Hall, who merely asked me if
I was Lieutenant Witton. Upon replying again in the affirmative, he gave
the officer who accompanied me some instructions. Leaving the
commandant's office, I was requested to accompany him to the Garrison
Artillery Fort. The proceedings seemed rather strange to me, as I had not
the slightest conception of what was about to take place. On my arrival
at the fort I was left with Lieutenant Beattie, who could not or would
not enlighten me. A little later Major Neatson came to me and informed me
that I was under close arrest pending a court of inquiry.

The officer commanding the fort then informed me that I was a military
prisoner under his charge, and if I attempted to escape, or went outside
the wire entanglements, I would be shot; that I was not to communicate
with anyone outside, and all correspondence was to be sent through him.
At this time I had not the faintest notion of the charges against me, or
for what reason I was made a prisoner.

I learned afterwards that Major Lenehan, Captain Taylor, Lieutenants
Morant, Handcock, Picton, Hannam, and Sergeant-Major Hammett were in the
same predicament as myself, and were located in different parts of the
garrison. Major Lenehan was with the 2nd Wiltshire Regiment, Captain
Taylor and Lieutenant Handcock in blockhouses close to the Wiltshire
lines, Lieutenant Hannam and Sergeant-Major Hammett at the garrison
prison, Lieutenant Picton with the Royal Field Artillery, Lieutenant
Morant first with the Gordon Highlanders, and afterwards at the garrison
prison.

After being a fortnight in close confinement I was called upon to attend
a sitting of the court of inquiry, and for the first time I became aware
of the nature of the charges against me. A great deal of pride is evinced
in what is called British justice, but after that court of inquiry I
doubted if such a thing existed. This piece of history could well be
dated back to the days of the Star Chamber or the Spanish Inquisition.

The president of the court appeared to be Colonel Carter, whilst Captain
Evans acted as his secretary. Both belonged to the Wiltshire Regiment.
There was also another member, belonging to the same regiment. He was
constituted a sort of private detective to round up witnesses to give
evidence to meet necessary requirements; he employed as an understrapper
a corporal who had once been a South African Republic detective, and was
afterwards a trooper in the Carbineers. He had been arrested several
times whilst with the corps, and on one occasion was reprimanded for
selling British uniform. He expected at the close of the case to be
rewarded with a farm. His hostility and bitterness can be imagined when
be openly boasted that he would be willing to walk barefooted from
Spelonken to Pietersburg, 90 miles, to be in a firing party to shoot
Morant and Handcock.

Upon my appearance at the court, which was held in a tent close to the
commandant's office, the president read out that I was charged with
complicity in the death of a prisoner of war named Visser, with
complicity in the death of eight others, names unknown, also with
complicity in the death of C. H. D. Hesse, a German missionary.

I was asked to make a statement regarding these charges. I said that any
part I had taken in the shooting of Boers was under the direct orders of
a superior officer; as to the death of the missionary, it was quite a
mystery to me, but I was confident that it could not be charged to the
Carbineers.

I was astounded to hear that his death was imputed to Lieutenant
Handcock, as I had been frequently in his company while at Spelonken, and
had not the slightest reason to connect him with it. I proved even to the
satisfaction of that court that I knew nothing of this case, and the
charge was immediately withdrawn.

I always understood that a man was innocent until he was proved to be
guilty; that position was here reversed, and we were adjudged guilty
until we proved we were innocent.



CHAPTER XII.

ORDERED FOR COURT-MARTIAL.

It appears that the ground for these remarkable proceedings was that a
report, which had originated through a Kaffir boy, had reached the German
authorities that a subject of theirs had been shot by British troops.
Redress was demanded, a penalty must be paid, and the result was the
arrest of the officers of the Carbineers as stated.

It has been said that the missionary was shot because he was going into
Pietersburg to inform the authorities there about the shooting of
prisoners, but there was no necessity to shoot him on that account, as
the authorities there were aware of the facts.

It was customary in outlying districts during the latter stages of the
war to shoot as many of the enemy as possible. Vaguely-worded orders were
issued that "All officers should strive to the utmost to bring the war to
a speedy termination;" "All officers must use discretion in dealing with
the white flag;" or, as one officer said, he was told to "clear the
district, and not to be too keen on filling burgher camps." These orders
were interpreted in only one way by the officers, and that was "No
quarter, no prisoners."

On the morning I attended a sitting of the court a German farmer from
near Duival's Kloof, who was alleged to have seen the body of Captain
Hunt, was being examined. "Did you notice any marks on his face?" he was
asked, "There was a graze over his eye, which might have been caused by
coming in contact with the branch of a tree at night time," was the
reply. "Did you notice any extravasation of blood about the neck?" I
could see the man did not know what was meant by extravasation of blood,
but he replied in the negative. "In your opinion, then, Captain Hunt's
body had not been maltreated ?" "Yes."

It is reasonable to conclude that this man, being a German, would be a
biassed witness, and, again, that he would not dare to give evidence
favourable to British troops, as his farm and possessions were at the
mercy of every Boer commando that came into the district. Notwithstanding
this, I shall prove later that this man's evidence--taken at this court,
and not at the court-martial--was accepted as correct, as against that
given by a clergyman and a British officer.

When the men of the Carbineers were being examined they were questioned
in a most high-handed manner, and in some cases questions and answers
would be taken down in writing without their knowledge; a day or so later
they would be sent for again, and a long statement read over to them,
which they were ordered to sign. Some of the statements were made by men
who knew nothing whatever personally, but had only heard the case was as
they represented; some even had merely heard that someone else had heard,
and so on. These men's statements were taken as evidence. Others who were
called, and said truly that they knew nothing, were treated as hostile,
and were bullied and badgered, and even threatened with arrest. One man
was actually sent to the garrison prison, and detained there until he was
removed to the hospital suffering from brain fever.

In addition to the men of our own regiment, evidence was taken from
Dutchmen, Germans, Africanders, and Kaffirs.

When Lieutenant Handcock was brought before the court he was staggered at
the charges laid against him; it seemed as if he were charged with the
murder of every Dutchman that had been shot in South Africa, as well as
that of a German missionary. He was so completely ignorant of military
law and court proceedings that he asked the president what would be the
best course for him to pursue; he was advised to make a clean breast of
everything, as the responsibility would rest solely on Lieutenant Morant.
He declined to make any statement whatsoever, and was sent again for a
considerable time into close confinement, even the military chaplain not
being allowed to see him.

Is it possible to conceive such an iniquity perpetrated in these days of
supposed civilisation?--a man charged with numerous murders shut up
alone, without a soul from whom he could seek advice; condemned before he
was tried. There could be only one ending; Handcock's mind gave way, and
when he was not responsible for his actions he was forced into making a
statement which incriminated himself and Lieutenant Morant.

This court of inquisition sat daily for nearly a month, and was supposed
to be held in camera, yet statements made during the day, with additions,
were freely discussed at garrison mess, and were the common talk of the
town during the evening.

Captain Taylor's charge-sheet was, I believe, a notable one, and almost
identical with that of Lieutenant Handcock--if not for the actual crimes,
for instigating them. The statements made by some of his men would, I am
sure, furnish interesting reading; the majority of the charges against
him were, however, withdrawn.

After twelve weeks' solitary confinement Handcock was allowed to make
arrangements for his defence. Upon being made aware of his position by
his friends, he refuted his previous statement, and said that he had only
made it to please Colonel Carter; it was too late then, however, as I was
informed on good authority that a copy of the evidence taken at the court
had been furnished to the German Government.

With me, who was also kept in solitary