Fire Across the Veldt (8 page)

‘Hmmm.’ French looked down at what was obviously Fonthill’s report. ‘Why did you allow yourself to be taken by surprise? You knew, I presume, that you were in Botha’s territory?’

‘Yes, that is why I posted vedettes out in front and on the flanks of the column. But Botha somehow slipped through or around them to attack.’

French fixed him with a unblinking gaze, his pepper-and-salt moustache set in a grim line. ‘But you did not post proper vedettes.
You sent out native scouts, when the situation surely demanded posting trained cavalrymen who knew what they were about. You cannot expect Kaffirs to do that sort of work.’

Fonthill made a mental note. His report had only stated that he had posted scouts in the van and on the flanks. He had not mentioned the nationality of the vedettes. Someone must have informed French of the ethnicity of the men. Hammond …?

‘I must point out, General,’ he said, ‘that none of my men are fully trained yet. The purpose of the exercise was to train them. Under the circumstances I do feel that they comported themselves well. As for the natives, my experience both in the Transvaal War and when invading Matabeleland with Jamieson was that good native scouts were unparalleled in this sort of work. I have to confess that I do not know how they did not pick up Botha’s tracks on this occasion and I am currently investigating why this was so. But I do take your point, and my vedettes will be troopers in future.’

‘Very well.’ French’s features remained set in a faint scowl. He looked down again at the report and then back at Fonthill. ‘I see you allowed your warrant officer and chief scout to pursue game. Wasn’t this ill-advised, given, once again, that you were in Botha’s backyard, so to speak?’

‘In hindsight, possibly yes. But I have driven the men hard in training – we have been given very little time to get up to operational level – and this has involved living on hard tack when out on the veldt. I felt that fresh meat would be a well-deserved treat for them. If Sergeant Major Jenkins’s horse had not become injured and had to be put down, he would have only been away for less than ten minutes.’

A silence fell on the two men as French’s gaze returned to the
report and Fonthill studied the canvas roofing of the tent. Eventually, the general put down the paper and pushed it to one side.

‘I’m afraid that I have to say that you have not exactly made a good start, Fonthill,’ he said, his face remaining firmly set. ‘I do not regard the loss of nearly twenty per cent of your command as a fair price to pay for the damage you inflicted on the enemy.’

Simon felt his temper rise and fought to remain in control. He was, after all, back in the bloody army …!

‘I am sorry that you feel that way, General. Forgive me if I don’t agree with you. My command was – and still is – fresh to battle and our training was not complete when we met up with a Boer commander who the world knows has already humiliated British forces considerably larger than his own. Nevertheless, we did, in fact, inflict greater damage on him than we sustained and he fled from the field. Knowing how few the Boer commandos are in number compared with the forces now pursuing them, I would suggest that their losses will have far more impact on them than mine will have on our numbers overall. I would like to add that I was proud of the way the men fought and have every confidence in them for the future.’

Once again silence fell on the tent. But French’s expression softened a little. ‘Hmmm. How are your wounded coming along?’

‘Very well, thank you, sir.’ He conceded the title of respect as a concession to the general’s slight relaxation in attitude. ‘The surgeon reports that none of them is in danger. Would you care to visit them? I know the men would appreciate it.’

‘Ah … er … yes. I will make the rounds this evening. Shall we say 6 p.m.?’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Fonthill …’

‘Sir?’

An expression of something approaching embarrassment slipped for a moment over the general’s features, then was replaced by his set-piece frown. ‘I am familiar, of course, with your record and reputation, both of which, ah, does you credit, of course.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But … ah … you have not had experience, of course, of regimental command, since, indeed, you were a subaltern all those years ago – and then you would only have commanded at platoon level, no doubt.’

‘That is quite true.’

‘This war, as you know, is not at all over yet. We shall have much hard riding and hard fighting to do before we have cleared the country of these commandos, deploying as they do these guerrilla tactics and their knowledge of this vast and very unforgiving country. Do you … ah … consider yourself suited to command a column in the field, fighting in this very unconventional way? Eh, what?’

Fonthill clenched his fists and drew in a deep breath. ‘It is quite true, General,’ he said, keeping his voice level, ‘that I lack experience of command in the field. But I do have considerable experience of warfare and of fighting quite unconventionally in many parts of the Empire over the last two decades. In fact, as I understand it, this was the very reason that General Kitchener invited me to come to South Africa to help in this new type of warfare.’ French opened his mouth to speak but Simon pressed on. ‘In fact, he led me to believe that I had more to offer than most line officers who, he felt, had already shown themselves to be rather constrained by tradition and … what shall I
say … a
regimented
approach to fighting. “Playing the Boers at their own game”, I think was the phrase he used. If, however, you feel that, even at this early stage, I am not what
you
want in this campaign, then, of course, I must offer my resignation. Except that, of course, I must insist on submitting it to General Kitchener himself, since he commissioned me.’

French held up a conciliatory hand. ‘No, no, Fonthill. I fear you misunderstood me. It has certainly not come to that.’ The general looked uncomfortable and shifted in his chair. ‘Ah, no. I merely wished to ensure that you have the confidence to continue. Which … er … clearly you have. And this is most important, of course, because I have work for you. Ah, yes, indeed.’

Fonthill forced a smile. ‘I am glad to hear it, sir.’

French nodded and leant forward, speaking now with more ease. ‘You will know of the situation, I believe. The Boers are seeing the way in which General Kitchener is going – the burning of the farms and the placing in detention camps of Boer civilians, so that they can no longer provide support to the commandos.’

Simon nodded.

‘It is quite clear, therefore, that the enemy must try a new tack. It can’t continue to use the high veldt up here in the north as its playground – raiding our columns and camps, blowing up the rail lines and so on and then disappearing back to their farms for supplies before swooping down again. It won’t win the war.’

‘Quite so.’

Now French became almost agitated, pushing back his chair and gesturing with his pen. ‘There is, then, only one way it can go, effectively.’

‘To the south?’

‘Exactly. To the Cape Colony.’

Fonthill nodded. ‘Of course. When I met de Wet he virtually said as much.’

French’s frown returned. ‘You have met de Wet?’

‘Yes. I had a slight brush with him.’ He described the circumstances.

‘I see. Hmmm. You regained your horses, you say. Well, I congratulate you on getting the better of him. He seems a most resourceful chap, although I don’t like his methods. Now, back to the Cape. As a British colony, of course, the support for the Boers there is far less strong and so there can be no question of us burning the farms. However the Dutchmen in the country, outside the cities, have sympathy with these rebels and, indeed, our minister there, Milner, is very worried about a possible uprising. We must therefore make every effort to see that none of these commandos gets through to the Colony in force to rouse that support. D’yer follow?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now, the Boers have tried to do this before – Hertzog, Kritzinger and de Wet himself have had a go but we have managed to drive them all back north of the Orange. Their aim was and remains to unify and reorganise the surviving, scattered Free States bands holed up in the tangled mountains of the Eastern Cape, then cut through to the Western Cape and set the Cape alight, so to speak, maybe even preparing the way for a full-scale invasion of the Colony. Do you get the picture?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘Right. Now, how quickly can you ride out again?’

‘Well, give me a day to replenish our supplies – oh, and find a doctor and a couple of medical orderlies. I trust that will be in order?’

‘Yes. Talk to Kitchener’s staff about this. Say I said so. A new
medical corps has just been formed and they have new medics up there in Pretoria. So … when could you saddle up again?’

‘Two days’ time. There won’t be time to replace the dead and wounded but we will still be a viable force.’ Fonthill felt a quick moment of apprehension. ‘Will we ride out with you, General?’

‘No. I must stay here for a day or two.’

Relief flooded through Simon and he made a strong attempt to keep it from his expression. Riding under French’s close supervision would have been abhorrent to him. ‘What are my orders, then?’

What was almost a smile twitched French’s moustache. ‘I hope that they will be welcome to you, Fonthill. I want you to chase your old friend de Wet. He has linked up with Steyn, the president of the Orange Free State. We did believe that, with Smuts, they would attack the mines at Johannesburg but our intelligence tells us that that is out of the question now. Our forces are far too well entrenched there for them to try that. We understand that de Wet and Steyn have recrossed the Vaal here,’ he unrolled a map on his desk and stabbed a finger on it, ‘and are making for Bothaville on the Vaal, where the majority of the Orange River Commando are waiting for them. Then, they will make for the Cape Colony border.’

‘How many men will there be in the commando?’

‘About eight hundred, we believe. It will be a formidable force. We understand that they have four Krupps field guns, a pom-pom, plus artillery that the Boers captured from us – a fifteen-pounder and a twelve-pounder.’

‘Hmmm.’ Fonthill gave a rueful smile. ‘Bit of a mouthful for my lot to digest, I fear.’

‘Oh dammit, Fonthill.’ French’s irritability returned. ‘I am not
expecting you to take on this commando with your little column. No. Your job is to find ’em and lead our men to them. We have Major General Charles Knox with a large force roughly in the area. But his column, I know, will move too slowly to catch de Wet unless we can lead him by the nose to him. That’s your job.’

He gestured to the map again. ‘We believe that the commando will be somewhere around here. But, of course, we can’t be sure. Get down here as soon as you can, Fonthill. Get your native scouts out and track this bloody man down. On no account must you attack the commando yourself but make contact with Knox and lead him to our quarry. It’s difficult country so it won’t be easy but it’s vital that we nail de Wet. He’s beginning to make a fool of us. Can you do it?’

‘I believe I can, sir.’

‘Good.’ French stood and held out his hand. ‘Good luck to you, Fonthill. Now, I must ask you to excuse me because I have some orders to give. I will see you at six tonight.’

Back at his tent, Simon immediately summoned Mzingeli.

‘Have you had a chance yet of examining the men we put out as vedettes and finding out why they missed the Boers?’

The tracker’s face betrayed no expression. ‘Yes, Nkosi. They say they saw no tracks, except when Boers were riding away.’

Fonthill frowned. ‘I can’t believe that. They were split out wide on either side and then to the front. The Boers were too many to leave no tracks and they came at us from the front. Do you believe the men?’

‘No, Nkosi. I think that when they out of sight of column they bunched together to talk and laugh, probably on left of column.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Man on left of column funny man. People like to be with him. Others join him, I think.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Nkosi. Others tell me that.’

‘Ah. Very well. Dismiss all three.’

Mzingeli’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You want to get rid of them? No give another chance, after warning?’ It was clear that the black man, so used to generosity from his employer, was shocked at the severity of the sentence.

Fonthill sighed. ‘Those days are over, Mzingeli. You saw that we were fighting for our lives against the Boers out there. We cannot afford any slipshod work from the trackers. This will be a warning to the rest. Do what I say.’

‘Very well, Nkosi.’

On the fourth day after the column’s return, it set out again, this time heading due south. Four white troopers were set out as vedettes, to the front, left, right and behind the jingling horsemen. At the head, Fonthill rode, his face set and hardly exchanging a word with Major Hammond, who rode behind him.

Fonthill’s first aim was to find Major General Knox who, with his division, was stationed somewhere to the north-west of the little town of Kroonstad in the middle of the Free State. Knox had doggedly pursued de Wet for more than three months now, without pinning down the Boer leader to a fight. The point now, however, was to stop de Wet and his commando from crossing the Orange into the mountains of the northern part of the Cape Colony.

As he rode, more taciturn now but keeping his eyes ranging over the plain, Simon pondered the gossip he had picked up in Johannesburg about the state of affairs in the Cape, the oldest and most prosperous of the South African colonies. The British powers in Cape Town were terrified of a possible wholesale rebellion by the considerable number of Boers living and working in the Colony. An invasion by well-equipped and well-led commandos could ignite such a revolt,
give new hope to the Transvaal and invigorate and unite the scattered Boer units operating in the Orange Free State. If de Wet was planning to springboard his invasion by gathering his forces together on the banks of the Vaal, he had to be hit hard before he could consolidate.

But where the hell exactly was de Wet? It was big country down there, fringed by mountains, and a man who could slip two and a half thousand men, plus wagons and cattle, unseen between large forces of waiting British troops, could be comparatively invisible now, given the geography. Fonthill frowned. His black trackers were going to have to prove their worth now, there was no doubt about that.

The need to move fast was strong, but Fonthill decided that he would not force the pace unduly, for he was anxious not to tire the horses. Hard riding could be demanded of them once they caught up with the fast-moving Boers. It was three and a half days, then, before his outriders reported that General Knox’s camp was within sight.

Knox proved to be a bluff, conventional senior officer, completely in the mould of Queen’s Victoria’s army. Red-faced, with a fiercely waxed moustache, he welcomed Fonthill, however, with genuine warmth.

‘Can’t find the little bugger anywhere, my dear feller,’ he confided. ‘We’ve been in touch with his rearguard regularly enough further north, with one or two scraps, but they’ve always held us off long enough for his main laager to move off before I could come up with the main body. Then, they all slip away. Very frustratin’, yer see. Feller never stands and fights and he moves very fast.’

‘I presume you have scouts out now, General?’ Riding through, Simon had detected a certain permanence about the division’s camp, with cooking pots bubbling over open fires between the lines and men
lounging in their cotton long johns. He wondered how quickly the men could break camp and follow a lead.

‘Of course. Combin’ the countryside.’

‘Are they troopers or black chaps?’

‘Oh, troopers, of course. Can’t trust the Kaffirs to bring us information.’

‘And are they calling on farms?’

‘Of course.’

‘Forgive me for pushing this, sir, but the Boer farmers, even if they’re not fighting, are unlikely to betray the commandos, wouldn’t you think?’

‘Eh, what? Well, you might be right but we’re offering a reward, so I would think that they would give us a lead, don’t you know.’

‘Well, I’ll off-saddle my men now, sir, but I shall push out patrols from dawn tomorrow and explore all along the Vaal. De Wet should need the river for water if he’s got eight hundred men. And I’ll have my black trackers go off ahead. They might pick up something from the Kaffirs working on the farms, who might not have much time for their employers, from what I hear.’

‘Do what you wish, Fonthill. I will give you a free hand, but stay in close touch with me here.’

‘Very good, sir.’

Well before dawn, Simon sent off his trackers individually to scour the area. Giving them provisions, he instructed them to ride far, sleeping on the veldt and not to return for three days, unless they picked up a lead. Then he split his command into troops, sending three troops to cross the Vaal and explore along the far bank, while the other three ranged along the north-west bank.

For three days they found nothing. Simon then realised that a commander as astute as de Wet would be unlikely to camp on the riverbank, where his options for a quick retreat would be limited. He would be more likely to concentrate his men around an isolated farm, away from the river, perhaps in a fold in the hills. He instructed his troops and trackers accordingly, riding out himself on the fourth day with Jenkins and the newly promoted Captain Colin Forbes and his B troop.

It was November now and the miseries of the rainy season were fading, with the promise of summer showing. The veldt was turning a verdant green before the sun burnt it brown and offering good pasture for oxen and horses. Good, thought Simon. Perhaps de Wet would stay feeding his men and his laager that little bit longer, before committing himself to the inhospitable territory of the Cape border.

He was on the point of ordering the troop to return to base when a black horseman appeared from the north, riding fast. He reined in, his horse lathered with sweat, and spoke urgently in Bantu to Mzingeli.

‘He say,’ reported Mzingeli, ‘he think Boers are camped on a farm, near a ruined village called Bothaville near Valsch River, not Vaal. Lots of them. He could not find Kaffir to confirm but he saw enough Boers to think it a big commando. They have wagons and big guns.’

‘How far away?’

‘About twelve miles. He can lead us there but needs a fresh horse.’

‘Get him one, Sergeant Major. Forbes, get me six of your men who can ride fast.’

Simon looked to the west and saw that the sun was beginning to dip in the sky. They had about an hour and a half before darkness.

He made a quick calculation. There was no hope of summoning Knox in time for an attack that day and he would be lucky to find his other troops in time for them to gallop back to him before the light went completely. If the tracker had seen artillery, then this must be de Wet’s main commando, so he would need every man he could summon if he was to consider an attack able to stop the commando slipping away again.

That would have to be just before dawn, he reasoned, when perhaps the commando was still sleeping or at least drowsy – if, that is, de Wet had not inspanned his oxen already and moved after the tracker had left – perhaps even because he had been seen and the alarm given.

Simon gave his orders quickly when the six troopers cantered to him. Five were to find the other troops – he knew roughly where they would be – and order them to move quickly back to him at a point some five miles ahead. The sixth was to ride like hell back to Major General Knox and ask him to move forward quickly to Bothaville. He would attempt to detain de Wet long enough for the main column to come up.

Then he paused for a second. What was it French had said? ‘I am not expecting you to take on de Wet with your little column …’ He shook his head. Needs must. The fact that Knox had never pinned de Wet down was probably because he moved too slowly. Well, that wiry Boer with his briefcase, farmer yet most efficient fighter, would not get away this time. Fonthill would attack at dawn.

The troopers galloped away and Simon looked back at his little command: just fourteen men. There was not much he could do with that number but when the other troops came up, perhaps they had
a chance – if, that is, the Boers were taken by surprise. He motioned for the troop to move forward at a canter, following the tracker on his fresh horse.

Fonthill was aware that Jenkins had edged his pony to be alongside him. ‘What’s the plan, bach sir?’ he asked quietly.

‘It looks like it’s the main commando, 352. If it is – and whether it is or not – if they’re still there I intend to deploy around them, as best we can in the dark, and then attack just before dawn.’

‘What, with fourteen men?’

‘Don’t be silly. The others will be with us soon. Then we’ll send the tracker on ahead, with Mzingeli, to reconnoitre the position. I reckon we’ve just about got enough men to hold them down, for a time, at least.’

‘Blimey. How many men in that commander thing?’

‘About eight hundred.’

Jenkins nodded solemnly. ‘Ah. Pretty good odds, o’course. Should be easy.’

Simon grinned. ‘Oh, quite easy. The point is, we’ll take ’em by surprise, probably when most of the Boers are still sleeping and they will not know how many we are.’

‘But they will ’ave guards out, for sure.’

‘Maybe. But remember what happened the last time we met this fellow. The guard was asleep. The Boers are good fighters, but as farmers they are not disciplined in the way of a regular army. We’ll gamble on that. But if they do have guards out, we’ll just ride through ’em.’

‘Very well, Colonel. But just remember to grip the bloody ’orse with yer knees if we charge. And don’t let go of the reins.’

‘Thank you, Sarn’t Major. What splendid and original advice.’

Jenkins sniffed. ‘Well, I promised Miss Alice that I would look after you an’ shoot you in the leg if you did anythin’ stupid and brave. Sounds to me as though this attack comes under that ’eadin’, look you.’

‘No. Shoot the bloody Boers, not me. And you know I can ride as well as the next man now.’

‘That maybe so, if the next man’s not very good, see.’

‘Get on with you, or I’ll have you shot for insubordination, look you.’

It was just before dusk when the first of Fonthill’s troops came riding in, led by Major Hammond. Then the others followed quickly. Simon looked around. He had about a hundred and twenty men (they had managed to take in some half-trained replacements for the wounded before leaving Johannesburg). He immediately called a council of war with the officers and explained the position.

‘Surprise is the essence, here,’ he said. ‘So, once the trackers report back, we shall dismount and deploy in the dark. Once we are
in situ
, we will remount and charge the camp.’

‘With respect, Colonel.’ Hammond’s voice was characteristically languid. ‘We can’t really do a proper cavalry charge without sabres or lances, don’t you think?’

Fonthill’s mind immediately recorded the fact, once again, that French’s man was in his camp and would be reporting to his chief. Things had better go right this time!

‘We are not cavalry, Major,’ he replied evenly. ‘We are mounted infantry. We shall fire from the saddle and then, once we are into the camp, we will off-saddle and take whatever cover we can. The aim
will be to stop the commando riding off with all its trappings. There will be a rearguard, of course, but I hope we can strike terror into them all before that rearguard is able to rally.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Right. More when we know the disposition of the enemy. Now let us ride on.’

The horses walked on in the semi-darkness. Fonthill reasoned that there was no point now in wasting valuable energy and strength by trotting or cantering and also risking being unsaddled or injuring the horses on the uneven ground. He looked around him and was glad that he had instructed all horse brasses and accoutrements to be smeared with mud before leaving Knox’s camp to avoid reflections from sunlight and, as now, a jingling that would carry far across the night air of the veldt.

They had been riding for some two hours in the darkness, carefully picking their way, when an outrider from the rear came galloping up. ‘British troops coming up in the rear,’ he reported.

Fonthill turned away and, with Hammond and Jenkins, rode to meet them. It was difficult by obscured starlight to define the size or the origin of the force but an officer carrying the insignia of a lieutenant colonel rode forward and touched his helmet.

‘Are you Colonel Fonthill?’

‘I am indeed. Awfully glad to see you.’

‘Le Gallais,’ responded the officer. ‘You’re not as glad to see me, Colonel, as I am glad to have found you in this light. We are General Knox’s advance guard, the 5th and 9th Mounted Infantry. He got your message and sent us off immediately. He is coming on. We have been riding like hell. Where is the enemy?’

Fonthill gestured ahead. ‘I think they’re about a mile and a half away. They are encamped by the Vaalsch – that’s a tributary of the Vaal, where, like a fool, I have been looking for him for the last four days. We’ve been fishing up the wrong river. It seems to be de Wet’s main commando, which means that he must have President Steyn with him. He’s got artillery and supply wagons with him too, and, by the sound of it, some eight hundred men. How many do you have?’

‘About six hundred. And we have twelve-pounder guns.’

‘Splendid. We can’t wait for Knox to come up. I was going to attack at dawn. Do you agree?’

‘Absolutely. We might have the blighter at last. But, with respect, I don’t think you would have got far with your hundred chaps. What was your plan?’

‘Don’t wait to surround them because de Wet has a reputation of always keeping a strong rearguard, and I don’t want to alert them and lose the advantage of surprise. Once we are deployed, I suggest we go in strong, firing as we go, and take advantage of surprise. I understand they’ve got the guns in a kraal near the homestead, so we should cut them out.’

‘Quite so. Well, you’re senior to me, Colonel, and it’s your show. You found him. We will do as you say. Let me get my fellows up and we will walk on with you. I presume you have scouts out in front?’

‘Just the tracker who found them and the chief tracker. They are leading us in.’

‘Very well. We will follow.’

‘Can you send someone reliable back to the general and ask him to hurry here? He should be able to heliograph once he’s near the camp. We could have quite a fight on our hands, knowing the Boers.’

‘Of course.’ Gallais touched the brim of his helmet and turned his horse.

Jenkins urged his mount alongside Fonthill’s. ‘Nice to ’ave a bit of company, now, isn’t it? I didn’t fancy attacking the whole bloody Boer army on my own, look you.’

Simon nodded. ‘Yes, well you’ve probably lost the chance of a VC. Ride on, Sar’nt Major, and see if you can find Mzingeli and bring him back. I want to know how near we are to the Boers – and particularly, of course, if they are still there.’