Part 9 (1/2)
”From Chief of Staff, Honingspruit,” came the words, ”to General Hamilton, Heilbron.” Then followed orders. How Hamilton was to march from Heilbron; how Broadwood was to move from Ventersburg, the entire plan of campaign for the next few weeks! A ma.s.s of information to gladden the heart of our steadfast chief. ”Hurrah!” we whispered to each other, as I carefully put the precious message in a safe place.
Then some harsh, grating sounds were heard in the microphone. The wires were evidently being overhauled in Heilbron. Complete silence followed.
Hearing a couple of shots fired on our left, we removed all traces of our work and rode back to our starting-point, well satisfied with the valuable information we had so fortunately obtained. I at once sent my a.s.sistant after the President with the despatch. Fearing that the enemy might send a patrol here during the night, I left for Frankfort, and arrived there at midnight. Before leaving, however, I had instructed my a.s.sistant to join up the line where I had cut it, if upon his return the next morning he should find the place still free from the enemy.
I MEET DE WET
The little village of Frankfort was wrapped in slumbering darkness when I entered it. Cold and hungry after the five hours' journey, I did not scruple to knock up the Postmaster. With an instinct of good-fellows.h.i.+p that did him credit, he at once made me welcome; breaking up a couple of empty boxes, we made a rattling fire, and soon big gulps of cocoa were chasing the last few s.h.i.+vers from my wearied frame.
My last thought as I wrapped my blanket round me and stretched myself out on the floor was of the despatch I had sent after the President.
Suppose my messenger lost the doc.u.ment or was captured! But I would soon know, for if I found the line joined through at eight o'clock, according to my orders, it would be a proof that he had returned and found the coast clear.
The little office was crowded with busy clerks when I opened my eyes the next morning. Casting a rapid glance at the clock, I saw it was almost eight. There was no time to lose. I grasped the useful little vibrator with one hand, flung the blanket into a corner with the other, and set off, calling to the native servant to follow with a ladder. It was not advisable to operate under the eyes of the townspeople, so I marched across the bridge and into the veld, until a suitable spot was reached.
No sooner had I thrown my wire over the line than I again heard British and Dutch signals intermingled. Good! My message was safe.
The Kafir s.h.i.+nned up the pole and cut the wire, permitting the British signals only to come through. I listened intently to the various more or less interesting messages being exchanged by the enemy. Presently a new and stronger note broke in--
”h.e.l.lo! Here, Sergeant-Major Devons. Who are you?”
Devons? Those are the fellows that we fought at Ladysmith. But what--how comes he here? Listen----
”Here, Heilbron. We're just waiting to leave. Crowds of Boers on the hills.”
”Ah! I say, I've pushed on, quite by myself, for fully twelve miles,”
said the hoa.r.s.e note of the non-com.'s vibrator. ”When I reached Roberts' Horse the chief said I was d----d lucky to get through!”
”Good on you!” replied his admiring hearer. ”This is a bit different from old Tyneside, ain't it?”
”Cheer up; we shall soon be in Pretoria.”
”Confound you!” said I, das.h.i.+ng my fist on the key, ”you're not there yet!”
To prevent myself from interrupting them, advertently or otherwise, I had taken the precaution to disconnect the battery, so my little outbreak did no harm.
Then the sergeant-major sent a long message to his chief, Captain Faustnett, duly informing the latter of the distance he had come, all by himself, and of what the officer commanding Roberts' Horse had said, after which the Heilbron man remarked--
”Good-bye, we're off.” Silence followed.
The net result of the morning's work was the knowledge that Hamilton was leaving Heilbron at that very moment, and leaving it ungarrisoned. This information I hastened to communicate to my chief, with the result that within a very short s.p.a.ce of time we were again in telegraphic communication with that town and in possession of several hundred sick and wounded that the British had kindly left to our care. At Spion Kop we wanted their wounded, but did not get them; here we did not want them in the least, but we got them all the same.
My next task was the maintenance of the fence line between Frankfort and Reitz. A testing station had been established half-way between the two villages, consequently the communication was fairly good and there was not much for me to do. One day a message arrived from my chief in Pretoria, asking me to go thither, and accompany him northwards when the capital should be abandoned. The Postmaster-General of the Free State, however, insisted upon my remaining a few days longer.
A little while after De Wet's commando entered the village about a thousand strong. The rumour went that De Wet was going to rest for a week and then strike a heavy blow. No sooner had the column halted on the bank of the river than De Wet himself rode over to our office, accompanied by his secretary. They wrote out a few telegrams, and then De Wet entered into conversation with the Postmaster-General. His tone and manner lacked the slightest cordiality. He asked the Postmaster-General whether he was sure, quite sure, that the British side of our telegraph lines was always cut, so that the enemy could not tap our messages. Yes, the chief was quite sure. But De Wet thought it best that instructions to that effect should be re-issued, so as to leave no excuse for any possible negligence. This suggestion was carried out on the spot.
The chief then introduced me to De Wet. Compared with Louis Botha, or almost any other of our generals, De Wet presented but a sorry sight.
His manners are uncouth, and his dress careless to a degree. His tactlessness, abrupt speech, and his habit of thrusting his tongue against his palate at every syllable, do not lessen his undeniable unattractiveness. But De Wet, if he lacks culture, certainly has an abundance of shrewdness, and is not without some dignity at times. And I must confess that it is chiefly owing to De Wet and Steyn that the war did not end with the fall of Pretoria. What is the secret of his success? This, he has one idea, one only--the independence of his country. Say to him--
”If the English win----” and he breaks in--