Little Did The Sleeping
Yeomen In The Tents, Or The Drowsy Outposts Upon The Crest, Think
Of The Terrible Christmas Visitors Who Were Creeping On To Them, Or
Of The Grim Morning Gift Which Santa Claus Was Bearing.
The Boers, stealing up in their stockinged feet, poured under the
crest until they were numerous enough to make a rush.
It is almost
inconceivable how they could have got so far without their presence
being suspected by the sentries - but so it was. At last, feeling
strong enough to advance, they sprang over the crest and fired into
the pickets, and past them into the sleeping camp. The top of the
hill being once gained, there was nothing to prevent their comrades
from swarming up, and in a very few minutes nearly a thousand Boers
were in a position to command the camp. The British were not only
completely outnumbered, but were hurried from their sleep into the
fight without any clear idea as to the danger or how to meet it,
while the hissing sleet of bullets struck many of them down as they
rushed out of their tents. Considering how terrible the ordeal was
to which they were exposed, these untried Yeomen seem to have
behaved very well. 'Some brave gentlemen ran away at the first
shot, but I am thankful to say they were not many,' says one of
their number. The most veteran troops would have been tried very
high had they been placed in such a position. 'The noise and the
clamour,' says one spectator, 'were awful. The yells of the Dutch,
the screams and shrieks of dying men and horses, the cries of
natives, howls of dogs, the firing, the galloping of horses, the
whistling of bullets, and the whirr volleys make in the air, made
up such a compound of awful and diabolical sounds as I never heard
before nor hope to hear again. In the confusion some of the men
killed each other and some killed themselves. Two Boers who put on
helmets were killed by their own people. The men were given no time
to rally or to collect their thoughts, for the gallant Boers barged
right into them, shooting them down, and occasionally being shot
down, at a range of a few yards. Harwich and Watney, who had charge
of the maxim, died nobly with all the men of their gun section
round them. Reed, the sergeant-major, rushed at the enemy with his
clubbed rifle, but was riddled with bullets. Major Williams, the
commander, was shot through the stomach as he rallied his men. The
gunners had time to fire two rounds before they were overpowered
and shot down to a man. For half an hour the resistance was
maintained, but at the end of that time the Boers had the whole
camp in their possession, and were already hastening to get their
prisoners away before the morning should bring a rescue.
The casualties are in themselves enough to show how creditable was
the resistance of the Yeomanry. Out of a force of under four
hundred men they had six officers and fifty-one men killed, eight
officers and eighty men wounded. There have been very few
surrenders during the war in which there has been such evidence as
this of a determined stand. Nor was it a bloodless victory upon the
part of the Boers, for there was evidence that their losses, though
less than those of the British, were still severe.
The prisoners, over two hundred in number, were hurried away by the
Boers, who seemed under the immediate eye of De Wet to have behaved
with exemplary humanity to the wounded. The captives were taken by
forced marches to the Basuto border, where they were turned adrift,
half clad and without food. By devious ways and after many
adventures, they all made their way back again to the British
lines. It was well for De Wet that he had shown such promptness in
getting away, for within three hours of the end of the action the
two regiments of Imperial Horse appeared upon the scene, having
travelled seventeen miles in the time. Already, however, the
rearguard of the Boers was disappearing into the fastness of the
Langberg, where all pursuit was vain.
Such was the short but vigorous campaign of De Wet in the last part
of December of the year 1901. It had been a brilliant one, but none
the less his bolt was shot, and Tweefontein was the last encounter
in which British troops should feel his heavy hand. His operations,
bold as they had been, had not delayed by a day the building of
that iron cage which was gradually enclosing him. Already it was
nearly completed, and in a few more weeks he was destined to find
himself and his commando struggling against bars.
CHAPTER 37.
THE CAMPAIGN OF JANUARY TO APRIL, 1902.
At the opening of the year 1902 it was evident to every observer
that the Boer resistance, spirited as it was, must be nearing its
close. By a long succession of captures their forces were much
reduced in numbers. They were isolated from the world, and had no
means save precarious smuggling of renewing their supplies of
ammunition. It was known also that their mobility, which had been
their great strength, was decreasing, and that in spite of their
admirable horsemastership their supply of remounts was becoming
exhausted. An increasing number of the burghers were volunteering
for service against their own people, and it was found that all
fears as to this delicate experiment were misplaced, and that in
the whole army there were no keener and more loyal soldiers.
The chief factor, however, in bringing the Boers to their knees was
the elaborate and wonderful blockhouse system, which had been
strung across the whole of the enemy's country. The original
blockhouses had been far apart, and were a hindrance and an
annoyance rather than an absolute barrier to the burghers.
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