With Steyn and De Wet | Page 9

there. But it
wasn't.
At sunrise the others returned, saying that the Standerton laager had
moved much higher up, and that the Johannesburg laager was the next
on the list. They accordingly marched in that direction, laying the cable
as they went, past precipices and over mountain gorges. I followed on,
testing and repairing, very tedious work in the burning sun. Fortunately
I was able to buy a little fresh milk from a native, which refreshed me
immensely. The waggons were still missing, so we had very little food.
At midnight the cable led me up a high hill, so steep that the pony
almost fell over backwards as I led him up the face of it. Right on the
top lived an old native, who, hearing the barking of his dogs, rushed out
armed with an assegai, ready to defend his eyrie against all comers. I
persuaded him to take me straight to the Johannesburg laager, where a
good night's rest made all right again.
The next morning communication was established with headquarters,
and I had the pleasure of eating a decent breakfast with Ben Viljoen,
then commandant, now general, whose acquaintance I had made during
the Swaziland expedition.
A fiery politician and a reckless writer, his pet aversions were
Hollanders and Englishmen, and it was hard to say which he detested
the most. Brave and straightforward, he was most popular amongst his
men, but the official, non-fighting, salary-pocketing element bore him
no love. General in charge of these positions was kind-hearted,
energetic Tobias Smuts, of Ermelo.
During the night Louis Botha arrived here, accompanied only by his
aide and his secretary. He, Smuts, their staffs, all slept in one small tent

on the hard ground, and with hardly room enough to turn round in.
Truly our chiefs were anything but carpet knights!
For a couple of days my office was under a waggon, then my tent
arrived, and soon everything was in full swing. One afternoon I was
honoured by a visit from a Hollander Jew and Transvaal journalist,
whose articles had more power to sting the Uitlanders than almost
anything one could mention on the spur of the moment.
We drank tea together and discussed the probability of our camp being
bombarded, standing, as it did, in full view of the hill whereon the
British cannon had been dragged a few days before. He had just raised
the cup to his lips when a well-known sound was heard--the shriek of
an approaching shell. Nearer and louder it came, till finally--bang!--the
shell burst not a hundred yards away. A young lineman, who had been
listening with all his soul and ever wider stretching eyes, now gave an
unearthly yell and almost sprang through the top of the tent, knocking
over the unhappy journalist and sending the hot tea streaming down his
neck. The youth's exit was somewhat unceremonious.
The office was hastily removed to the high bank of the adjacent stream.
Whilst this operation was going on the instrument buzzed out a
message ordering me to leave immediately for the Spion Kop office. I
at once said au revoir, handing over to my assistant the charge of the
office, river bank and all, as well as the task of dodging the shells,
which continued to fall around.
Riding along the steep bank for about two hundred yards, I found a
footpath leading down one side and up the other. No sooner had I
started down this than I heard a loud explosion. It did not sound quite
so near, but on gaining the opposite bank I saw floating over the spot
just quitted by me a small cloud of smoke, showing that a shell had
been fired at me with marvellous accuracy. Then a couple burst near
the general's tent, and the laager was immediately shifted behind the
hill.
I reached Spion Kop, took charge of the office, and was kept so busy
that for a week there was no time to have a decent wash.
The hill next ours was daily bombarded with the utmost enthusiasm,
shells falling there at the rate of fully sixty a minute, while we escaped
with only an occasional bomb. Looking down upon the plain before us,
we could see the British regiments drilling on the bank of the river,

about two thousand yards away, probably to draw our fire, but in vain
was the net spread.
The ground of operations was somewhat extensive. For some days the
enemy's infantry had been harassing our right wing, attacking every
day, and drawing a little nearer every night. Louis Botha was almost
continually present at this point, only coming into camp now and then
for a few hours' sleep.
One evening his secretary said to me, with genuine emotion, "It has all
been in vain! Our