Ladysmith | Page 2

they were fine tall men with shaggy
light beards, reminding one of Yorkshire farmers, but rougher and not
so well dressed. Most of them could speak some English, and many had
Scotch or English relatives. They lay on the floor or sat on the edge of
the van, talking quietly and smoking enormous pipes. All deeply
regretted the war, regretted the farm left behind just when spring and

rain are coming, and they were full of foreboding for the women and
children left at the mercy of Kaffirs. There was no excitement or
shouting or bravado of any kind. So we travelled into the night, the
monotony only broken by one violent collision which shook us all flat
on the floor, while arms and stores fell crashing upon us. In the silent
pause which followed, whilst we wondered if we were dead, I could
hear the Kaffirs chattering in their mud huts close by, and in the
distance a cornet was playing "Home, Sweet Home," with variations.
It must have been the next evening, as we were waiting three or four
hours, as usual, for the line to clear, that General Joubert came up in a
special train. A few young men and boys in ordinary clothes formed his
"staff." The General himself wore the usual brown slouch hat with
crape band, and a blue frock coat, not luxuriously new. His beard was
quite white, but his long straight hair was still more black than grey.
The brown sallow face was deeply wrinkled and marked, but the dark
brown eyes were still bright, and looked out upon the world with a kind
of simplicity mingled with shrewdness, or perhaps some subtler quality.
He spoke English with a piquant lack of grammar and misuse of words.
When I travelled with him next day, almost the first thing he said to me
was, "The heart of my soul is bloody with sorrow." His moderating
influence on the Kruger Government is well known, and he described
to me how he had done his utmost for peace. But he also described how
bit by bit England had pushed the Boers out of their inheritance, and
taken advantage of them in every conference and native war. He was
particularly hurt that the Queen had taken no notice of the long letter or
pamphlet he wrote to her on the situation. And, by the way, I often
observed what regard most Boers appear to feel for the Queen
personally. They constantly couple her name with Gladstone's when
they wish to say anything nice about English politics. As to the
General's views on the crisis, there would be little new to say. Till the
present war his hope had been for a South African Confederacy under
English protection--the Cape, Natal, Free State, and Transvaal all
having equal rights and local self-government. He knows well enough
the inner causes of the present evils. "But now," he said, "we can only
leave it to God. If it is His will that the Transvaal perish, we can only
do our best."

At Zandspruit, the scene of the old Sand River Convention, the whole
Boer camp crowded to the station to greet the national hero, and he was
at once surrounded by a herd of farmers, shaking his hands and patting
him warmly on the back. It was a respectful but democratic greeting.
The Boer Army--if for a moment we may give that name to an
unorganised collection of volunteers--is entirely democratic. The men
are nominally under field cornets, commanders, and the General. But
they openly boast that on the field the authority and direction of
officers do not count for much, and they go pretty much as they please.
The camp, though not in the least disorderly, was confused and
irregular--stores, firewood, horses, cattle, and tents strewn about the
enormous veldt, almost haphazard, though the districts were kept fairly
well separate. Provisions were plenty, but the cooking was bad. It took
three days to get bread made, and some detachments had to eat their
meat raw. I think there were not more than 10,000 or less than 7,000
men in the camp at that time, but the commandeered trains crawled up
every two or three hours with their new loads.
By a piece of good fortune we succeeded in crossing the frontier in an
open coal-truck. The border-line runs about six miles north of Majuba
and Laing's Nek, the last Boer village being Volksrust, and
Charlestown the first English. The scenery changes rapidly; the high,
bare veldt of the Southern Transvaal is at once left behind, and we enter
the broad valley of Natal, sloping steadily down to the sea and
becoming richer and more tropical as it descends. All regular traffic
had stopped three days before, but now and then a