It was the best start one could imagine for an ambitious reporter. In Southampton Churchill witnessed one of the classical opening scenes in the British Empire’s rich military history. The commander embarks, the expeditionary force sets off for battlefields at the far ends of the earth. The famous general stands surrounded by his staff officers, men in uniform are mobbed by a doting crowd. Half of Southampton had come to see them off. Daredevils climbed onto the roofs of railway carriages and clambered up the cranes. There was also something new on the quay and, later, on board. The American Mutoscope and Biograph Company was sending out a party of cinematographers to record the battlefields on film. Churchill had thought of that too, but his business associate had let him down. He would just have to rely on his writing. Fortunately his writing skills were good enough, and in any case images couldn’t be sent by telegraph.
It took all day for everyone to embark. There were military personnel, civilians, passengers and journalists, heaps of suitcases and trunks, an amazing array of weaponry, horses, polo mallets and bicycles. The commander’s special train pulled in at four o’clock sharp. The crowd on the quay roared with excitement. There he was, the man who was going to teach the Boers a lesson: General Sir Redvers Buller VC. He wasn’t in uniform, but with his towering stature, long black coat, grey Bismarck moustache and set jaw, he was an awe-inspiring figure. From the gangplank he delivered a few solemn words of farewell. The crowd responded with patriotic zeal, ‘Rule, Britannia!’, ‘God save the Queen’, ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow’, and cries of encouragement, ‘Give it to the Boers!’ and ‘Remember Majuba!’
Buller probably didn’t want to be reminded of Majuba. He had been in South Africa in February 1881 and witnessed that humiliating British defeat. It had left him with great respect for the Boer commandos’ military prowess. He didn’t believe this expedition would be as straightforward as many were predicting, and he cringed at the brash ‘Home for Christmas!’, which those on board and their well-wishers on the quay were calling out to each other.2
Buller knew South Africa all too well. He had fought not only the Boers but the Xhosa and Zulu, too, the latter more successfully. He had won his Victoria Cross at the Battle of Hlobane in Zululand in 1879. And he had been on military expeditions in West Africa, Egypt and China. He had earned his spurs on the battlefield. But that was a long time ago. He hadn’t seen active service outside Great Britain since 1886. In the mid-1890s he could have been appointed commander-in-chief, but he’d been passed over and given command of Aldershot, the home base of the 1st (and only) British Army Corps. It was to that position and his earlier war experience that he owed his commission, at the age of almost 60, as commander of all the troops in South Africa. He was succeeding Lieutenant-General Sir William Butler, who had been compelled to resign in August at the insistence of the high commissioner, Sir Alfred Milner.
This could have been an opportunity for him to distinguish himself again in the only way that really mattered to a Victorian general: by leading a victorious campaign against a worthy adversary. But Buller didn’t expect it to be easy. There hadn’t been time to prepare properly. He was also frustrated at having been excluded when the operation was being planned. In previous overseas expeditions, commanders had been consulted on matters of strategy and the composition of the expeditionary force. But Buller hadn’t even been able to appoint his own adjutants. He just had to wait and see what came out of the talks—months of bickering actually—between the war secretary, Lord Lansdowne, and the commander-in-chief, Field Marshal Lord Wolseley.
Since June 1899 Wolseley had been urging Lansdowne to send 10,000 men to the Cape Colony and Natal as quickly as possible, and to mobilise the 1st Army Corps—47,000 men, including reserves—so they would be ready to leave as soon as they were needed. But Lansdowne thought it too early and too expensive. As long as it wasn’t certain that there actually would be a war, as long as the secretary for the colonies, Joe Chamberlain, hadn’t taken a decision, he felt there was no need to rush. It was also reassuring for Lansdowne to know that his opinion was shared by the local commanding officer in Natal. That’s where the Boers were most likely to invade, if it did come to a war. The commander in question, Major-General Sir William Penn Symons, had decided a few days after arriving in Durban—where he was transferred from British India—that 2000 troops would be enough to defend the whole of Natal. Well, make it 5000, he said after thinking it over, but more wouldn’t be necessary.
Wolseley, however, had more faith in the judgment of another major-general, one who didn’t fire his opinions off like salvos, but based them on facts and figures. Sir John Ardagh, the head of intelligence at the War Office, had a higher regard than Symons for the Boers’ military capability. He believed their own side would need many times more troops. The problem was that the ‘Military Notes on the Dutch Republics’, which had been compiled under Ardagh’s supervision, were inconsistent and left room for interpretation. Lansdowne went for the loopholes. He glossed over the disturbing figures and smugly drew Wolseley’s attention to the passages that suited his purpose.
Buller wasn’t so keen to hear Ardagh’s advice either, though for different reasons. He returned the ‘Military Notes’ by courier, with a message saying he ‘already knew everything about South Africa’. He said much the same in a letter he wrote in early September and sent directly to Lord Salisbury—bypassing Lord Lansdowne. He complained about their not having made adequate preparations, which he believed could have serious consequences, and the fact that he, the commander, hadn’t been given a say in the planning. Passing over Lord Lansdowne did little to improve Buller’s already awkward relationship with the war secretary, but for the time being it didn’t affect his commission.
It was hard to say whether the letter made any impression on Lord Salisbury. In any event, it didn’t show. And luck was on Buller’s side. His letter had arrived the day before the Cabinet meeting of 8 September 1899, when Chamberlain proposed to send an expeditionary force of 10,000 men to South Africa.3 The other ministers agreed to the proposal, including Lansdowne and Salisbury, which was good news for Wolseley and Buller. At last they had something to do. It wasn’t the serious business they had been hoping for, but at least it was a start.
Even this relatively small contingent of troops wasn’t easy to raise. One of the problems was the old clan rivalry that was endemic in the British army. There were two competing factions, the ‘African’ and the ‘Indian’ rings. Wolseley headed the ‘Africans’, while the ‘Indians’, known as Roberts’s army, were led by Field Marshal Lord Roberts of Kandahar, who had returned to the United Kingdom a few years earlier as the highestranking military officer in Ireland.
It was agreed that British India would provide the 10,000 reinforcements, but the authorities in Calcutta were compelled to reduce the number to 5500 because of unrest on their north-west border. The remainder had to be rustled up elsewhere: a regiment from Malta, a battalion from Alexandria, a brigade from Crete. All were expected to arrive in Durban in mid-October. At that stage, Natal would have a total British force of 15,000 troops, including the units already stationed there. According to Wolseley, this was more than enough to defend the colony against a Boer invasion, especially under an experienced commander like Buller. Lansdowne decided otherwise. At first he had thought Symons could handle the situation on his own. But at Wolseley’s insistence he appointed a new commander for Natal, not an ‘African’, but the ‘Indian’ Lieutenant-General Sir George White. He, too, had won a Victoria Cross, and countless medals besides, but Chamberlain thought him too set in his ways and, at 64, too old. Lansdowne took no notice. As adjutants White chose two friends, colonels Ian Hamilton and Sir Henry Rawlinson. On 16 September 1899 they left for South Africa.
Buller was strongly against this arrangement. He had already challenged Wolseley’s claim that 15,000 men would be enough to defend Natal against an attack. And in any case, the commander-in-chief’s strategy was completely wrong. He had insi
sted to Lansdowne that the Biggarsberg, north of Ladysmith, would be a suitable defence line. According to Buller, that was a serious mistake. He believed the only good defence position was on the Tugela, south of Ladysmith. Moreover, he had insisted to Lansdowne in a heated discussion and subsequently in a personal letter that they would need far more reinforcements to hold off the Boers.
Lansdowne wasn’t interested. He thought Buller ‘talked Boer’. It was a good thing they hadn’t consulted him before appointing White and his adjutants. Perhaps Buller and White should have discussed the strategy beforehand. But that’s the way it was. How bad could it be? According to Symons and Wolseley, White had enough troops to prevent a Boer invasion. They could always dispatch the 1st Army Corps later.
In late September the British Cabinet came to the conclusion that the Boers were indeed likely to attack. Orders to mobilise were given in early October, when the Transvaal and the Orange Free State called their burghers to arms. With reserves included, the 1st Army Corps comprised 47,551 officers and men, equipped with 122 pieces of artillery. All in all there were three infantry divisions, a cavalry division, eleven field hospitals, a railway team, pontoniers and two observation balloons.
Buller got his way in the end, but by then he was afraid it was too late. He was concerned about the telegrams that had been coming in, from which he learned that the commanders in Natal had ignored his urgent, repeated warning, ‘Do not go north of the Tugela.’ Immediately after landing in Durban, White had proceeded to Ladysmith to establish his headquarters there. Symons had left Ladysmith a few days later, heading not south, but further north, in the direction of the Transvaal border. He and his 4000-strong brigade had crossed the Biggarsberg and set up camp in Dundee.
This was the situation on 9 October 1899, when the Boers issued their ultimatum. Their demands were clear. All British troops on the Transvaal borders were to withdraw. The reinforcements the British had sent to South Africa over the preceding few months were to leave. Those en route were to turn back. Disputes would be settled by arbitration. The South African Republic would regard any failure to meet these four demands by five o’clock on the afternoon of 11 October as a formal declaration of war.
The response from London was rapturous. ‘They have done it!’ Chamberlain crowed. Now they could stop squabbling over the wording of their own ultimatum. Lord Salisbury was relieved that he wouldn’t have to keep explaining things to the British public. Lord Lansdowne sent his congratulations to Chamberlain and assured him that ‘my soldiers are in ecstasies’. There was only that lone voice in Aldershot. Buller’s forebodings continued to haunt him. He still had misgivings on the afternoon of Saturday 14 October when he boarded the Dunottar Castle in Southampton, no matter how eagerly the crowd cheered him on. The words went round and round in his head. ‘Do not go north of the Tugela. Do not go north of the Tugela.’4
The slight, boyish-looking reporter with ginger hair watched him embark and decided to talk to him as soon as he got the chance. It was presumptuous, of course, but that’s what Churchill was like. He came from an elite aristocratic family. His late father, Lord Randolph, had been a prominent and well-connected, somewhat controversial Conservative politician. His mother, the still desirable Lady Randolph, née Jennie Jerome, had her own coterie of friends, amorous or otherwise. From childhood Churchill had moved confidently—too much so, some thought—in these privileged circles. He was quick to make new friends, and nurtured his friendships carefully.
From the moment he knew he was going to South Africa he had put his time to good use. He had contacted all his acquaintances, starting at the top, and things had worked out well. Chamberlain, an old friend of his father’s, was busy preparing for war, but nevertheless made time to receive him at home. They spoke frankly and at length about how the war would turn out. Churchill left with a valuable—and shrewdly worded—letter of recommendation, addressed to none less than the high commissioner in Cape Town. Chamberlain introduced ‘the son of an old friend’ to Sir Alfred Milner as ‘a very clever young man’. He was said to be pushy, but Chamberlain thought this was rather an extreme view.
It wasn’t the only letter of recommendation Churchill received for Milner. After dining together, the under-secretary for war, George Wyndham, also took the trouble to compliment his sharp and ‘unprejudiced’ mind. Wyndham was generous with information as well as praise. He told Churchill openly that he was less optimistic than his minister, Lord Lansdowne, or the commander-in-chief, Lord Wolseley. The Boers were armed to the teeth, he warned, and with their new heavy artillery they were in a position to deal the British troops a severe blow.
Two letters of recommendation from eminent British politicians to the highest commander in South Africa made for an auspicious start, but they were rather one-sided for a journalist, Churchill thought. He also needed testimonials from people from different backgrounds and with different connections in the country. Again, he found what he was looking for among his father’s circle of friends. One was the wealthy and powerful mining magnate Alfred Beit, a business associate of Cecil Rhodes and one of the sponsors of the Jameson Raid as well as a string of anti-Boer press campaigns. Through Beit Churchill obtained five more letters of recommendation addressed to various people, Englishmen and Afrikaners, with connections in the mining sector and South African politics.5
It goes without saying that these luminaries commended Churchill not only on the strength of his background, but also because he shared their imperialist aspirations. Make no mistake, Churchill held the Victorian belief that British rule was a godsend to all humankind, including those who were fighting it with all their might. As for the conflict with the Boers, he had written about that in early 1896, shortly after the Jameson Raid, in an unpublished memorandum called ‘Our Account with the Boers’. He clarified his position—no half measures, vital British interests, the Uitlanders’ political rights, and if necessary, ‘ruthless’ action—and concluded that ‘for the sake of our Empire, for the sake of our honour, for the sake of the race, we must fight the Boers’. Meaning, first subjugate them and then magnanimously allow them to enjoy the blessings of the British Empire.
At the time of his departure for South Africa, Churchill can best be described—in twenty-first-century terms—as an informally screened, ideologically approved, embedded war correspondent, with sterling connections and added employment benefits that would be the envy of any reporter today. He had his own retainer, Thomas Walden, who had accompanied Lord Randolph on many of his travels, including a journey to Mashonaland in 1891. In short, he was a seasoned traveller and, as such, had laid in provisions: 18 bottles of whiskey, 24 bottles of wine, six bottles of port, six each of vermouth and eau de vie, and 12 flasks of lemon juice.6
These supplies helped to make the voyage bearable. Compared with the sailing ships of the old days, which used to spend months at sea, the Dunottar Castle travelled at lightning speed. Even so, the passage from Southampton to Cape Town took a good two weeks. To Churchill, that was ‘a large chunk of the nineteenth century’. In addition, rough seas made him nauseous and for the first few days seasickness kept him from writing or any other activity. When the weather improved, after Madeira—nothing to write about there—boredom set in. He had hoped to exchange a few words with Buller and his staff officers, but little came of it. The general was cordial to everyone, even the journalists. He allowed the Americans to film him strolling casually on deck, but he kept his innermost thoughts to himself. Even Churchill was unable to prise anything out of him. Churchill’s first report for the Morning Post, dated 26 October 1899, reflected his growing impatience. A modern sea voyage was wretched. It was ‘torture’ for him to be deprived of news for more than 14 days, especially with a war just getting under way. Out of sheer frustration he amused himself with daydreams, from Kruger conquering Cape Town to White or Symons marching on Pretoria.
The voyagers got their first hint of the true state of affairs in the war zone on 29 October, just one day
before they sailed into Cape Town. The message wasn’t entirely clear. On the deck of a homeward-bound steamer that passed them less than 200 metres away was a blackboard which announced in white letters, ‘Boers defeated. Three battles. Penn Symons killed.’ This sounded contradictory. Or perhaps not? Churchill knew how impulsive Symons could be—he had been with him in British India—and knew he would always lead the way into battle. The death of a British general, shocking as it was, didn’t rule out the possibility of a British victory. Three in fact, if they could trust their information. The Boers had been defeated. As long as it didn’t mean the war was all over. Otherwise, they could just turn round and go home.
Speculation was rife and the atmosphere grew increasingly sombre. Only Buller, true to form, kept his thoughts to himself. After a few minutes one of his adjutants made an attempt to strike up a conversation. ‘It looks as if it will be over, sir.’ At which the commander broke his silence for the first time on the voyage and grumbled, ‘I dare say there will be enough left to give us a fight outside Pretoria.’ His words had a miraculous effect. As if the oracle had spoken, the glad tidings passed from mouth to mouth. The mood on board lifted instantly. Sir Redvers says there will still be enough to fight about!7
War on four fronts
Cape Town, 31 October 1899
The Boer War Page 20
