The Boers Who Had Fought These Two Actions Had Been Drawn Mainly
From The Jacobsdal And Fauresmith Commandoes, With Some Of The
Burghers From Boshof.
The famous Cronje, however, had been
descending from Mafeking with his old guard of Transvaalers, and
keen disappointment was
Expressed by the prisoners at Belmont and
at Enslin that he had not arrived in time to take command of them.
There were evidences, however, at this latter action, that
reinforcements for the enemy were coming up and that the labours of
the Kimberley relief force were by no means at an end. In the
height of the engagement the Lancer patrols thrown out upon our
right flank reported the approach of a considerable body of Boer
horsemen, who took up a position upon a hill on our right rear.
Their position there was distinctly menacing, and Colonel
Willoughby Verner was despatched by Lord Methuen to order up the
brigade of Guards. The gallant officer had the misfortune in his
return to injure himself seriously through a blunder of his horse.
His mission, however, succeeded in its effect, for the Guards
moving across the plain intervened in such a way that the
reinforcements, without an open attack, which would have been
opposed to all Boer traditions, could not help the defenders, and
were compelled to witness their defeat. This body of horsemen
returned north next day and were no doubt among those whom we
encountered at the following action of the Modder River.
The march from Orange River had begun on the Wednesday. On Thursday
was fought the action of Belmont, on Saturday that of Enslin. There
was no protection against the sun by day nor against the cold at
night. Water was not plentiful, and the quality of it was
occasionally vile. The troops were in need of a rest, so on
Saturday night and Sunday they remained at Enslin. On the Monday
morning (November 27th) the weary march to Kimberley was resumed.
On Monday, November 27th, at early dawn, the little British army, a
dust-coloured column upon the dusty veld, moved forwards again
towards their objective. That night they halted at the pools of
Klipfontein, having for once made a whole day's march without
coming in touch with the enemy. Hopes rose that possibly the two
successive defeats had taken the heart out of them and that there
would be no further resistance to the advance. Some, however, who
were aware of the presence of Cronje, and of his formidable
character, took a juster view of the situation. And this perhaps is
where a few words might be said about the celebrated leader who
played upon the western side of the seat of war the same part which
Joubert did upon the east.
Commandant Cronje was at the time of the war sixty-five years of
age, a hard, swarthy man, quiet of manner, fierce of soul, with a
reputation among a nation of resolute men for unsurpassed
resolution. His dark face was bearded and virile, but sedate and
gentle in expression. He spoke little, but what he said was to the
point, and he had the gift of those fire-words which brace and
strengthen weaker men. In hunting expeditions and in native wars he
had first won the admiration of his countrymen by his courage and
his fertility of resource. In the war of 1880 he had led the Boers
who besieged Potchefstroom, and he had pushed the attack with a
relentless vigour which was not hampered by the chivalrous usages
of war. Eventually he compelled the surrender of the place by
concealing from the garrison that a general armistice had been
signed, an act which was afterwards disowned by his own government.
In the succeeding years he lived as an autocrat and a patriarch
amid his farms and his herds, respected by many and feared by all.
For a time he was Native Commissioner and left a reputation for
hard dealing behind him. Called into the field again by the Jameson
raid, he grimly herded his enemies into an impossible position and
desired, as it is stated, that the hardest measure should be dealt
out to the captives. This was the man, capable, crafty, iron-hard,
magnetic, who lay with a reinforced and formidable army across the
path of Lord Methuen's tired soldiers. It was a fair match. On the
one side the hardy men, the trained shots, a good artillery, and
the defensive; on the other the historical British infantry, duty,
discipline, and a fiery courage. With a high heart the
dust-coloured column moved on over the dusty veld.
So entirely had hills and Boer fighting become associated in the
minds of our leaders, that when it was known that Modder River
wound over a plain, the idea of a resistance there appears to have
passed away from their minds. So great was the confidence or so lax
the scouting that a force equaling their own in numbers had
assembled with many guns within seven miles of them, and yet the
advance appears to have been conducted without any expectation of
impending battle. The supposition, obvious even to a civilian, that
a river would be a likely place to meet with an obstinate
resistance, seems to have been ignored. It is perhaps not fair to
blame the General for a fact which must have vexed his spirit more
than ours - one's sympathies go out to the gentle and brave man, who
was heard calling out in his sleep that he 'should have had those
two guns' - but it is repugnant to common sense to suppose that no
one, neither the cavalry nor the Intelligence Department, is at
fault for so extraordinary a state of ignorance. [Footnote: Later
information makes it certain that the cavalry did report the
presence of the enemy to Lord Methuen.] On the morning of Tuesday,
November 28th, the British troops were told that they would march
at once, and have their breakfast when they reached the Modder
River - a grim joke to those who lived to appreciate it.
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