In A Short Time The
Moon Would Be Up, And They Would Be Picked Off To A Man.
The outer
companies upon the plain were ordered to retire.
Breaking up into
loose order, they made their way back with surprisingly little
loss; but a strange contretemps occurred, for, leaping suddenly
into a trench held by the Gordons, they transfixed themselves upon
the bayonets of the men. A subaltern and twelve men received
bayonet thrusts - none of them fortunately of a very serious nature.
While these events had been taking place upon the left of the line,
the right was hardly in better plight. All firing had ceased for
the moment - the Boers being evidently under the impression that the
whole attack had recoiled. Uncertain whether the front of the small
party on the right of the second line (now consisting of some
sixty-five Sappers and Canadians lying in one mingled line) was
clear for firing should the Boers leave their trenches, Captain
Boileau, of the Sappers, crawled forward along the bank of the
river, and discovered Captain Stairs and ten men of the Canadians,
the survivors of the firing line, firmly ensconced in a crevice of
the river bank overlooking the laager, quite happy on being
reassured as to the proximity of support. This brought the total
number of the daring band up to seventy-five rifles. Meanwhile, the
Gordons, somewhat perplexed by the flying phantoms who had been
flitting into and over their trenches for the past few minutes,
sent a messenger along the river bank to ascertain, in their turn,
if their own front was clear to fire, and if not, what state the
survivors were in. To this message Colonel Kincaid, R.E., now in
command of the remains of the assaulting party, replied that his
men would be well entrenched by daylight. The little party had been
distributed for digging as well as the darkness and their ignorance
of their exact position to the Boers would permit. Twice the sound
of the picks brought angry volleys from the darkness, but the work
was never stopped, and in the early dawn the workers found not only
that they were secure themselves, but that they were in a position
to enfilade over half a mile of Boer trenches. Before daybreak the
British crouched low in their shelter, so that with the morning
light the Boers did not realise the change which the night had
wrought. It was only when a burgher was shot as he filled his
pannikin at the river that they understood how their position was
overlooked. For half an hour a brisk fire was maintained, at the
end of which time a white flag went up from the trench. Kincaid
stood up on his parapet, and a single haggard figure emerged from
the Boer warren. 'The burghers have had enough; what are they to
do?' said he. As he spoke his comrades scrambled out behind him and
came walking and running over to the British lines. It was not a
moment likely to be forgotten by the parched and grimy warriors who
stood up and cheered until the cry came crashing back to them again
from the distant British camps. No doubt Cronje had already
realised that the extreme limit of his resistance was come, but it
was to that handful of Sappers and Canadians that the credit is
immediately due for that white flag which fluttered on the morning
of Majuba Day over the lines of Paardeberg.
It was six o'clock in the morning when General Pretyman rode up to
Lord Roberts's headquarters. Behind him upon a white horse was a
dark-bearded man, with the quick, restless eyes of a hunter,
middle-sized, thickly built, with grizzled hair flowing from under
a tall brown felt hat. He wore the black broadcloth of the burgher
with a green summer overcoat, and carried a small whip in his
hands. His appearance was that of a respectable London vestryman
rather than of a most redoubtable soldier with a particularly
sinister career behind him.
The Generals shook hands, and it was briefly intimated to Cronje
that his surrender must be unconditional, to which, after a short
silence, he agreed. His only stipulations were personal, that his
wife, his grandson, his secretary, his adjutant, and his servant
might accompany him. The same evening he was despatched to Cape
Town, receiving those honourable attentions which were due to his
valour rather than to his character. His men, a pallid ragged crew,
emerged from their holes and burrows, and delivered up their
rifles. It is pleasant to add that, with much in their memories to
exasperate them, the British privates treated their enemies with as
large-hearted a courtesy as Lord Roberts had shown to their leader.
Our total capture numbered some three thousand of the Transvaal and
eleven hundred of the Free State. That the latter were not far more
numerous was due to the fact that many had already shredded off to
their farms. Besides Cronje, Wolverans of the Transvaal, and the
German artillerist Albrecht, with forty-four other field-cornets
and commandants, fell into our hands. Six small guns were also
secured. The same afternoon saw the long column of the prisoners on
its way to Modder River, there to be entrained for Cape Town, the
most singular lot of people to be seen at that moment upon
earth - ragged, patched, grotesque, some with goloshes, some with
umbrellas, coffee-pots, and Bibles, their favourite baggage. So
they passed out of their ten days of glorious history.
A visit to the laager showed that the horrible smells which had
been carried across to the British lines, and the swollen carcasses
which had swirled down the muddy river were true portents of its
condition. Strong-nerved men came back white and sick from a
contemplation of the place in which women and children had for ten
days been living. From end to end it was a festering mass of
corruption, overshadowed by incredible swarms of flies.
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