The Boer War

by Thomas Pakenham

  But how to cross that last eight hundred yards of open plain to the guns themselves? About 8.30 a.m. Buller himself had ridden up to the large donga eight hundred yards in the rear. He was pleased to find Ogilvy’s naval guns were still in action, though immobilized by the stampede of all but two of the ox teams. He arranged for artillery horses to drag those naval guns back to a safe position. He then rode back along the firing line to get further support. There was no lack of infantry. He had two of Lyttelton’s battalions, one of Barton’s, as well as the two rear battalions of Hildyard’s brigade: a total of about five thousand extra men behind the firing line at Colenso. The problem was how to get them far enough forward to extricate Long.38

  As Buller and his staff rode along the firing-line, his progress was marked by the kind of incident that wins a general a place in the hearts of his men. ‘“Advance” was the order,’ said a private of Barton’s brigade later. ‘We did; a riderless horse galloped through us We got up again unhurt, and as we went, whizz-whizz-whizz, came the bullets, over went a couple of our fellows, and a shell came in front and blinded us. I was spitting out dust for the next few minutes, and it was almost like groping in the dark, but we heard a voice behind us: “Steady, men. Don’t lose your heads.” It was Buller’s. We did not lose them after that, but gripped our rifles and made straight through the smoke.’39

  Buller himself, attended by his staff and body-guard, was an obvious target to the enemy’s riflemen. He ‘stood watching the artillery fire while the bullets dropped all about him,’ said another private, ‘and when he was hit in the side with one, the doctor, Captain Hughes … rode up to him and asked him if he could do anything for him. He calmly replied that it had only just taken his wind a bit… He is as brave as a lion.’ In fact, Buller had been severely bruised in the ribs by a shell fragment, but did not admit this till later.40

  Behind the mask, Buller’s spirit was on fire. Rage and frustration with Long’s blunder (‘I was sold by a d—d gunner, he later told Bigge)41 vied with the exhilaration, the physical thrill of danger. It was fourteen years since he had last been in battle: Colonel Buller, VC, the dare-devil of the Egyptian and Zulu wars. He now found he had not lost his taste for it. ‘I wickedly confess I liked it very much,’ he wrote of his personal appearances in the firing-line that day. Still, there were aspects that greatly distressed him. Soon after Buller had been hit in the ribs by the spent shell fragments, Captain Hughes, Buller’s own doctor and one of his favourites among the staff, fell mortally wounded in the lungs.42

  Buller now rode back a second time to the large donga. Out on the plain Long’s twelve field-guns still lay abandoned, alone except for a circle of panic-stricken horses, tied by the traces to their dead team mates. By the donga, bullets drummed on the ground, making the drivers duck back under shelter. Buller stood out in the open and shouted, ‘Now, my lads, this is your last chance to save the guns; will any of you volunteer to fetch them?’43

  After a minute, one of the corporals got up, and six men joined him. To make up two teams needed more volunteers. Buller turned to his own staff and Clery’s which included Prince Christian Victor. ‘Some of you go and help.’ Three officers stepped forward: Captain H. N. Schofield, one of the ADCs; Captain Walter Congreve, the Press Censor; and Lieutenant Freddy Roberts.

  Congreve was never to forget that ride. He was a personal friend of Freddy’s – they had served as brother officers in the Rifle Brigade in India. Congreve mounted a troop horse, as his own pony had vanished in the mêlée. First, they had to hook the two teams into the limbers. Freddy Roberts held the head of Corporal Nurse’s horse, while the corporal hooked in. They set off at a canter towards the guns, half a mile away. Congreve watched Freddy Roberts ‘laughing, talking and slapping his leg with his stick as though we were on the Mall at Peshawar again’.44 Then the ride, for both of them, ended:

  All we could see were little tufts of dust all over the ground – a whistling noise k’phut where they hit and an increasing rattle of musketry somewhere in front. My first bullet went through my left sleeve and just made the point of my elbow bleed. Next a clod of earth caught me no end of a smack on the other arm, then my horse got one and then my right leg, my horse another, and that settled the question. He plunged and I fell off about a hundred yards from the guns we were going to.45

  Freddy had vanished. But somehow the two teams with the limbers reached the guns. After a struggle, Schofield and the corporal hooked in, and away they galloped back to safety, with two 15-pounders.46

  By now Botha’s men beyond the river – who could see Long’s guns clearly, despite the heat haze – had redoubled their fire. The next team with a limber sent forward by Buller was brought to a standstill. Further volunteers rode out. It was hopeless. A final attempt was made by Captain H. L. Reed of the 7th Battery, the one sent to support Dundonald’s mounted brigade. He hooked in three teams and they rode forward. Twelve of the horses were shot, one man killed, five wounded. No one reached the guns. Buller now refused to sanction any further rescue attempts. He then gave the order: retire. The men, who had been half-dazed by their experiences, leapt to their feet. ‘We were off like March hares,’ said one of the gunners.47

  Was there still no hope of saving the ten lost guns after dark?

  Of all the accusations that were later to break over Buller’s head, it was this taunt, perhaps, that would cut him most deeply: that he had needlessly abandoned Long’s guns. Indeed, two of the battalion commanders – including the CO of the 2nd Queen’s – later volunteered to try and dig into their positions in Colenso until dark, and then send out parties to bring in the guns.48 By then, Buller had already discussed the idea with Clery, and their surviving staff officers, and rejected it. To try and extricate the guns, whole battalions would have to be left in the firing-line till nightfall, eighteen hours without water. As Buller rode round the men, whose officers cheerfully offered them up as a sacrifice, he found the men already on the verge of collapse.49 This was the bond that held him closest to his army; he knew when flesh and blood could stand no more. He saw it now as he rode round the firing-line. The extraordinary heat, the rawness of the reservists, the absolute novelty of being under fire, the eeriness of fighting an invisible enemy: all had a paralysing effect on them. As he later cabled to London, in strictest confidence, ‘I am frightened by the utter collapse of my infantry on Friday; on my left I lost nearly 300 missing, and on my right should have lost as many more but I and my staff rode down into the dongas and forced the men to get up and go home.’50 In short, there was a serious risk, if he left infantry at Colenso, that he would add to the loss of the ten guns a further loss that would be both more irreplaceable and more humiliating: that of the British infantry, who would have had to surrender wholesale.51

  There was a second reason for rejecting such a venture. Dundonald’s brigade had not only failed to establish themselves on Hlangwane. They had been driven back after suffering heavy losses. With difficulty, they were now extricating themselves from the valley, and retiring south.52 When they had gone, and taken their field-guns with them, the way would be open for the Boers’ flanks to snap shut on Colenso.

  One by one, Buller’s infantry companies marched back out of danger. Despite the pain of his wound, Buller stayed in the saddle till he had seen the last of the infantry safely home. By three o’clock, the last of the mounted brigade had ridden back exhausted to camp. All firing ebbed away. The sounds natural to the Tugela slowly returned: the murmur of the water, of the pigeons in the trees on the river. Out in the shimmering plain, the guns lay abandoned, encircled by the dead horses. And in the small donga, thirty yards behind, Colonel Long, wounded gunners, staff, and some infantrymen still lay under the midsummer sun.53

  ‘No water, not a breath of air, and not a particle of shade and a sun which I have never felt hotter even in India.’ So Congreve later described the experiences of that interminable day, ‘the most beastly day I ever spent’. He had been wounded in the leg. Then
he had found Freddy Roberts. He was lying out on the veld, shot in the stomach and two other places. When the fire slackened, Congreve dragged him under shelter. He was unconscious, and there seemed little hope for him from the first. They shaded his head with a coat, and waited.54

  About 4.30 p.m. some Boers crossed the river, and rode over to the donga. One of them called on the British to surrender. The senior British officer was Colonel Bullock, the CO of the 2nd Devons, who had pushed forward to the east of the railway line, and then taken refuge in this small donga with about twenty unwounded men of his battalion. Bullock refused to surrender. The Boers retreated, then exchanged shots with Bullock at a range of about fifty yards. Two of the Boers dropped – apparently shot. The Boers reappeared with a white flag. They pointed out that the donga was full of wounded, who would unavoidably be shot, if Bullock insisted on fighting. They chivalrously offered to let the wounded be removed, before going on with the fight.

  Meanwhile, less chivalrously, about a hundred Boers had crept round the side of the donga, and emerged holding their rifles pointed at the heads of the Devons. Perhaps Bullock would have chosen death and glory. He had no choice. One of the Boers hit him in the face with a rifle butt, knocking out some of his front teeth. Bullock and the rest of the Devons, and the unwounded gunners, were bundled off as prisoners. Congreve, Freddy Roberts, Long and the other wounded were sent back in the care of the ‘bodysnatchers’, the Indian and British ambulance men, who now reached the donga.55

  The battle was over – if such an abortive affair could be called a battle at all. The struggle for the lives of the wounded was only beginning. Dr Treves, the Queen’s surgeon, watched the lines of ambulance wagons rocking and groaning over the uneven veld like staggering men. Would that dismal procession never end? Treves could hardly believe that it was only a few hours before that the men had marched out to battle in the dew of the morning. Now they were ‘burnt a brown red by the sun, their faces were covered with dust and sweat, and were in many cases blistered by the heat… the blue army shirts were stiff with blood. Some had helmets and some were bare-headed. All seemed dazed, weary and depressed.’56

  It was here, in the small circle of field hospitals, that the horrors of the whole battlefield now seemed to be concentrated. Treves, an experienced surgeon, felt his stomach turn at some of the sights. Everywhere lay the khaki helmets, crushed, blood-stained and riddled with holes. Some of the men were delirious. They rolled off the stretchers and kicked about on the ground. One man, paralysed below the waist by a bullet in the spine, kept raising his head, staring with wonder at the limbs he could neither move nor feel. The earth seemed to be covered with groaning men. In the evening, it began to rain, and the men on stretchers were covered up with tarpaulins. Somehow this made the scene still more macabre: the shrouded figures, glistening with rain, some motionless, others stirring fitfully. Outside the operation-tent, men waited patiently for their turn. ‘Keep yer chivey up, Joe.’ ‘Good luck to yer, old cock, you won’t feel nothing.’ Orderlies took the stretchers in through the open flap, as the endless work went on: chloroforming, examining, amputating. Legs rattled in the bucket, or dropped on to the blood-stained grass.

  Treves kept thinking of the jolly phrase the soldiers had used when leaving England. They were determined to reach the Cape ‘in time for the fun’. Well, they were in time. And this was the fun.57

  Buller’s struggles, too, were far from over for the day. He had to cable to London about the battle. The Press were howling for permission to use the cable facilities, and the official reports must go first. Yet he was in no mood for sending cables after so many hours in the saddle under that burning sun. When John Atkins watched him climb down limply and wearily from his horse, he looked like an old, old man. No one yet knew about the blow to his ribs. Atkins only guessed of the blow to his pride.58

  In his cable for public consumption, Buller presented his usual air of calm. ‘I regret to report serious reverse,’ he began, and then described the outlines of the plan, and its failure. He was generous to Hart. ‘Early in the day I saw that General Hart would not be able to force a passage and directed him to withdraw. He had, however, attacked with great gallantry…. ‘He described the heroism of the attempts to save the guns. He gave no hint of the collapse of his infantry. ‘The day was intensely hot and most trying to the troops whose conduct was excellent.’ Only in his reference to Colonel Long did he give any real explanation for the reverse: ‘It appears that Colonel Long in his desire to be within effective range, advanced without any scouts or effective Infantry supports close to the river.’ (This sentence was, however, to be censored by the War Office before the cable was released to the Press.)59

  Had Buller left the matter there, the history of the war might have followed a different course. Certainly Buller would have been spared deep humiliation. But by midnight, his emotions had finally got the better of him. The intense isolation of his position, the frustration of his long struggle with Lansdowne, the bitterness of his feelings towards Hart and Long, the fourteen hours in the saddle under that burning sun, the pain of his wound: they were all written between the lines of a midnight cypher cable to Lansdowne. There was also one other element, a crucial misunderstanding, that explained the outburst.60

  The day before, he had received a cable from Lansdowne telling him to sack both Gatacre and Methuen. Lieutenant-General Sir Charles Warren, the commander of reinforcements he had long awaited – the 5th Division – was to take over Methuen’s force at Modder River. Buller assumed from this that Lansdowne had diverted Warren and his new division to the Kimberley front, overriding his own judgement at the behest of both Milner and the capitalists. In fact, Lansdowne’s order applied only to Warren himself, not to his division, which was still at Buller’s disposal.61

  Hence the mood of rebellious rage – what he himself called ‘envy, hatred and malice for everyone.’62 Buller now cabled to Lansdowne: ‘No. 87 Cipher. 15 December. 11.15 p.m. My failure today raises a serious question. I do not think 1 am now [that is, since the apparent diversion of the 5th Division] strong enough to relieve White. Colenso is a fortress, which I think, if not taken on a rush, could only be taken by a siege…. I do not think either a Boer or a gun was seen by us all day…. My view is that I ought to let Ladysmith go, and occupy good positions for the defence of South Natal, and let time help us….’63

  Was Buller really proposing to abandon Ladysmith? By ‘let go’ he did not mean ‘let fall’, he claimed afterwards, and one can believe him.64 What he did mean was made clear – though it was some months before the War Office in London came to know of this second, still more ill-advised outburst – in the message he sent early next day by heliograph to Ladysmith.

  It was White’s blunder in letting himself be locked up at Ladysmith that had wrecked the whole strategy of the war. That was Buller’s view, and there was a good deal of truth in it. Now Buller lashed out at White: ‘No. 88 Cipher, 16th December. I tried Colenso yesterday, but failed. The enemy is too strong for my force, except with siege operations, which will take one full month to prepare. Can you last so long? Stop. If not, how many days can you give me to take up defensive position, after which I suggest your firing away as much ammunition as you can, and making the best terms you can. Stop. I can remain here if you have alternative suggestions, but unaided I cannot break in….’65

  This message, on Buller’s orders, was clumsily amended a few hours later, and three lines were added (presumably in reference to Yule’s reckless abandonment of Symons’s code books, and the possibility of White’s cutting his way out of Ladysmith): ‘Whatever happens recollect to burn your cipher and decipher and code books and any deciphered messages.’66

  If only Buller could have expressed himself more plainly, and less bluntly. Then there would have been nothing extraordinary about either of his cables. The proposal he had made to Lansdowne was essentially the same proposal that he had made – and then rejected – a few hours after he had stepped off th
e ship at Cape Town, and the same cry that echoed from Milner. Let Ladysmith look after itself for the time being. Send the bulk of the army to the western front. Advance over the flat veld into the Free State. So, indirectly, relieve Ladysmith.67 Put like that, the proposal sounded statesmanlike, though probably it was the wrong strategy. But Buller did not put it like that at all. He managed to sound both pessimistic and rebellious. His cable was a protest, and a challenge. Had the Secretary of State for War any better ideas? As a challenge, it was easy enough to answer. It was a gift to Buller’s enemies.68

  Buller’s message to White was still more bluntly expressed. White had told him at the end of November that he had food to last seventy days. He had fodder for a mere thirty-five days ‘at reduced ration’, and he was running short of heavy gun ammunition. The main question, then, in mid-December was, how long could he hold out? The other question was, could he cut his way out? Talk of surrender was premature as well as tactless. For this error, too, Buller was to pay the price, though the cable was to have absolutely no effect on the campaign.69

  Buller’s army marched back the seven miles to Frere, the nearest point to the Tugela with a water supply. Even so, part of the water had to be brought by train from Estcourt. The Boers made absolutely no attempt to attack. The losses of the British, when finally totted up, came to 1,138:143 killed; 755 wounded; 240 missing, mostly captured unarmed. This was about five per cent of the total force engaged; few of the wounded were serious cases, and after several weeks the losses were probably reduced by a half.70 By military standards the battle was not a disaster. To call it a ‘serious reverse’, as Buller had, was putting it correctly. The enemy did not win a yard of ground. The British only lost a small fraction of their men, and ten of their field-guns. In short, Buller had lost little that could not be soon replaced. The men’s morale, the key to ultimate victory, had miraculously revived.71