With Steyn and De Wet

With Steyn and De Wet

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Title: With Steyn and De Wet
Author: Philip Pienaar
Release Date: March 1, 2005 [EBook #15224]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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STEYN AND DE WET ***

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WITH STEYN AND DE WET
BY
PHILIP PIENAAR
OF THE TRANSVAAL TELEGRAPH SERVICE
METHUEN & CO. 36 ESSEX STREET W.C. LONDON 1902

CONTENTS
PAGE
THOMAR 1
THE ELEVENTH OF OCTOBER 3

FIRST IMPRESSIONS 8
COLENSO 17
PLATRAND 25
SPION KOP 32
GLORIOUS WAR 42
PIETERS' HEIGHTS 47
GLENCOE 53
THE FREE STATE 60
LINDLEY TO HEILBRON 68
VELD INCIDENTS 76
TAPPING THE WIRES 87
I MEET DE WET 93
ROODEWAL 103
OFF TO THE TRANSVAAL 111
ARRESTED AS SPIES 121
IN THE MOUNTAINS 131
THROUGH THE CORDON 139
SKIRMISHES 148
WE ENTER POTCHEFSTROOM 156
DE WET ONCE MORE 161
END OF THE REGULAR WAR 168

WITH STEYN AND DE WET

THOMAR
Here in the quiet old convent of Thomar, the Convento de Christo, the
strife of the past months seems like a dream. Wandering through the
long corridors, with their bare, empty apartments, gazing by the hour
on paintings faded and torn, the work of long dead and forgotten
masters, dwelling on marvels of ancient architecture, resting the eyes
on peaceful landscapes and hearing the sweet murmur of falling waters,
the scenes of war seem distant and remote.
The heart but so lately harrowed by the devouring emotions of anger,
hate, and the lust of blood, now soothed by the sympathy of the kindly
Portuguese, is lulled into harmony with the surrounding scenes of
peace and beauty. Only the thought of our ravaged country, struggling
still for dear life, though forced upon her knees, brings back the claims

of duty and the yearning to be up and doing, to enter once more the
ranks of the foemen and strike another blow for liberty.
Hopeless! Yet where is the Boer--prisoner, exile, or renegade--even
he!--who does not dream by nights he feels once more the free veld air
upon his brow, lives again the wild night rides beneath twinkling stars?
He feels once more his noble steed bound beneath him, grips again his
comrade's welcoming hand, and wakens with a bitter sigh.
Some consolation, then, to recall blows already struck, and duty fairly
done.

THE ELEVENTH OF OCTOBER
When war appeared inevitable the spirit of the Boers rose to support
them in their hour of trial, and only sentiments of patriotism and
defiance were felt and expressed. Joy at the opportunity of proving
once and for ever their ability to defend themselves and consequent
right to independence, regret for friendships about to be severed--these
were the chief emotions of the younger generation. The elder thought
of past wrongs, long cherished, and silently took down the rifle from
behind the door.
The women, ever strong in national spirit, lent the aid of their
encouragements and prayers. Sons wept that they were too young to
accompany their fathers on commando.
Yet there came a moment when for the space of a minute a mighty
shadow seemed to brood over the land, and the cold chill of coming
evil struck the nation as if from the clouds. A message had been
despatched from Pretoria to every corner of the country. One word only:
War!
The blow had fallen. Nothing could avert a sanguinary struggle. Well
the burghers knew the overwhelming strength of the foe, but they went
blithely forth to meet their fate, strong in a sincere confidence in
Providence. If the worst came to the worst, well, "'twere better to have
fought and lost, than never to have fought at all!"
Of all the branches of the Transvaal Civil Service there was not one
that stood higher in the public estimation at that moment, nor one that
distinguished itself more during the war, than that to which I had the
honour to belong--the Department of Telegraphs. Equipped with the
most up-to-date instruments, composed almost equally of picked men

from England and Holland and of well-trained young Colonials and
Transvaalers, under an energetic chief, our department proved itself,
both before and during the war, second to none, and, the Afrikander
portion at least, worthy of the confidence of the Government.
I had just been transferred from Johannesburg to Pilgrimsrest, a quaint
little one-street village near the Portuguese frontier, one of the oldest