He passed on, and Morton muttered, ‘Teacher’s pet.’ But Murdoch was left wondering if in some way he had just been given a reprimand, and if Methuen had after all reported adversely on his conduct in the Battle of the Modder.
Murdoch was sure that Roberts had already formed a plan of how to beat the Boers—and he particularly remembered that his hero’s watch-word had always been mobility. But troops, artillery and munitions were poured into the Modder River camp, in full view of the Boers, and it appeared obvious to everyone that the famous general was contemplating another frontal assault on Magersfontein to open the way to Kimberley, where conditions were now apparently becoming desperate.
‘And he is Britain’s greatest soldier?’ Morton sneered. ‘It’s going to be just another old-fashioned slogging match.’
Murdoch could not believe that, and he felt a surge of optimism when they were informed that they were to be brigaded, with all the other cavalry regiments, into a cavalry division—something which had never been known in the British Army before. General Sir John French, reputedly Britain’s finest cavalry leader, who had spent the past few months operating on his own with a small mounted force away to the east, arrived to take command. He was accompanied by his adjutant, Colonel Douglas Haig, another cavalryman with a widespread reputation as horseman and swordsman. He also had the reputation of being the best-dressed officer in the army, and this Murdoch could believe as he gazed at the perfectly creased breeches, the flawlessly cut tunic and the handsome, wide-moustached face.
The three cavalry brigades were placed under the commands of Major-General Porter, who had the First, Brigadier-General Broadwood, the Second, and Brigadier-General Gordon, who commanded the Third, in which were the Westerns. In addition, the division was to have, they were told, seven batteries of the Royal Horse Artillery and two small brigades of mounted infantry. But none of these were as yet at the Modder River, and although it seemed clear that when they did arrive French would have a very powerful and very mobile force at his disposition, there was still no inkling that they were intended for anything more than a march on Kimberley, once Magersfontein had been taken, until the evening of 10 February, when Lord Roberts visited the cavalry cantonments, accompanied by General French and Colonel Haig. They spent some time with each regiment, finally arriving at the Westerns, where Colonel Edmonds assembled his officers to hear what the field marshal had to say.
The little man looked over the faces in front of him; if he grieved for his dead son—who had also been awarded the Victoria Cross, posthumously—there was no sign of it in his demeanour, which was at once calm and purposeful. ‘I am sorry to have kept you inactive for so long, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘when we all know the desperate condition of the garrison in Kimberley, and when I know how anxious you are to regain the initiative from the enemy, but it has been necessary to make some careful preparations before I could act. We now have available some forty thousand men in northern Cape Colony. This may sound a formidable force; however, we are opposed here by some twelve thousand Boers, well entrenched in that mountain of theirs, appearing indeed to control our every option. It is up to us to prove the enemy wrong, but not by sacrificing lives in another senseless assault on so strong a position.’ He paused, and the officers looked at each other. ‘No,’ he went on, ‘our task must be to winkle him out, and very rapidly, if we are to relieve Kimberley in time. I therefore propose to turn the Magersfontein position.’
There was a moment of utter silence, while Murdoch was tempted to scream with joy. This was what he had wanted to do from the beginning.
‘This too is a difficult task,’ Roberts went on, ‘For it means abandoning what has hitherto been our sole line of communication: the railway. Indeed, it is because the Boers are so certain we must depend on the railway that they have concentrated such a strong body of men immediately in front of us here, leaving the rest of the country weakly held. This I propose to take advantage of, and I can now tell you that a few miles back down the track there has been assembled a wagon train of two hundred vehicles, ready to carry all the munitions of war wherever we want to go.’
Another pause, this time rewarded with a gasp; the field marshal had only been in South Africa a few weeks, and had already achieved what no other general had even considered attempting.
‘The possession of this wagon train gives us more mobility than before,’ Roberts told them. ‘But the main part of our army must still move on foot, which is necessarily slower than the Boers. This is where you cavalrymen come in, and indeed you are the lynchpin of our plan. General French?’
French stepped forward. ‘Obviously, the moment Cronje discovers that we are no longer contemplating a frontal assault upon Magersfontein, but are attempting to flank him, he will pull out the main body of his men to oppose our advance. We shall, of course, endeavour to deceive him as to our purpose for as long as possible, but we do not know for how long that will succeed. We must therefore pay attention to the places where the Boers might successfully oppose our march. There are, fortunately, no other naturally impregnable positions such as Magersfontein. That leaves him with only the rivers.’ He turned to the blackboard, where Haig had just pinned up a huge map of the area. ‘There are only two fords which will admit the passage of a large army and wagon train. These are De Kiel’s Drift over the Riet River, here.’ He placed his hand some thirty miles to the south-east of the Modder camp. ‘And Klip Drift across the Modder, here.’ He indicated a position some twenty miles due east of Magersfontein. ‘Once we can get the army across those two fords, the way to Kimberley is open, and indeed, Magersfontein can be surrounded. On the other hand, if the enemy reaches either of those fords before us and entrenches himself there, we will be faced with another almost impregnable position to storm. This must be avoided at all costs. It will therefore be the responsibility of the cavalry division to seize each of those river crossings in turn, before the Boers can do so.’
Now it was his turn to pause and survey the faces in front of him. ‘I want every officer to be very clear what this is going to entail. It will mean very hard riding, and it will mean from time to time cutting ourselves off from the main body of the army and from the support wagons. On such occasions it will not be possible to carry fodder for the horses, and only the minimum rations for ourselves. We will therefore travel as light as possible. All greatcoats for example will be left here. Only weapons, munitions and canteens will be carried. I am relying upon each of you to impress this on your men. Is that understood?’
They gazed at him, and he nodded. ‘Very good. Now prepare your men. I am sorry to have had to delay until this last moment to give you your orders, but of course it has been, and remains, essential that the Boers should not know what we are planning to do in advance. In fact’—he glanced at Lord Roberts and smiled—‘I did not know myself until last night. Now I must tell you that the division leaves here at three o’clock tomorrow morning. Good riding, gentlemen.’
Murdoch and Morton gazed at each other. ‘At last,’ Murdoch said. ‘We are going to carry the fight to them.’
‘Mobility,’ Morton agreed. ‘Why else have we been given horses?’ His mouth twisted. ‘Even if we are about to ride them to death, it seems.’
4 – The Transvaal, 1901
Murdoch summoned Sergeant Bishop and had him alert the men. He had no intention of limiting their stamina by repeating the mistake of the Modder River, and ordered them to breakfast at one o’clock in the morning. By then rations and ammunition were being doled out, and each man was allowed to fill three canteens with water. Haversacks, canteens and bandoliers apart, they carried nothing but the uniforms they were wearing and their weapons.
Murdoch was supervising the final equipment of every man when he heard hooves crunching in the darkness, and Caspar dismounted beside him. ‘Hi, there, Lieutenant Mackinder,’ he said, pronouncing the word ‘lootenant’ as usual. ‘Mind if I ride along with you?’
Murdoch raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you have
any idea where we’re going?’
‘I haven’t been told,’ Caspar admitted. ‘But I reckon I can guess.’
‘You’ll have to obtain permission from the general officer commanding.’
‘I’ve done that. He told me it was my funeral. But I guess he’d like to have me along to let the folks back home know something about how this war is going to be won.’
‘Well...’ Murdoch held out his hand. ‘You’ll have to bring your own rations.’
Caspar squeezed his fingers. ‘I have them right here.’
*
The division paraded in utter silence at two on that Sunday morning. Even now the rank and file had not been told where they were going, and they were astounded when they moved off, walking their horses to avoid making a noise, in a south-easterly direction, leaving all their tents and remount picket lines exactly as they had been for the past two months, gradually diverging from the railway line and apparently turning their backs on both Magersfontein and Kimberley.
‘Well, hell,’ Caspar remarked. ‘Seems like I guessed wrong. Do you have any idea where we’re going?’ He rode beside Murdoch at the head of B Troop.
‘I’ve an idea,’ Murdoch said enigmatically.
“Well, I sure hope it ain’t straight back to Cape Town,’ the American remarked.
By sunrise Magersfontein was out of sight and they were nearly at Graspan. As Lord Methuen had remained at the Modder River with the better part of a division to blow bugles and move around between the deserted tents and exercise the remounts, there was no way the Boers could have any idea that the entire cavalry force had been with-drawn from in front of them, or that the three divisions of infantry coming up the railway line were also about to diverge to the east.
Now the pace was quickened, as they were definitely within the boundaries of the Free State itself, and by midday they were at Ramdan Farm. Here was the rendezvous for the remainder of the division, and as their manoeuvre was still regarded as secret from the enemy, and to give time for the infantry and the wagon train to catch up; the men and horses were allowed to rest all evening and into the first hours of the night. Meanwhile their comrades arrived in a steady flow, until by dusk the full ten thousand, together with the artillery batteries, were assembled.
At three in the morning the division set off again, this time marching due east. By now the men began to have some inkling that they were at least making an extended raid into Boer territory, and spirits rose accordingly.
‘Now this is just like carrying the fight to the Indians,’ Caspar said enthusiastically. ‘But I’ll tell you something, lieutenant—I have never ridden with so large a body of men before.’
‘I don’t think anyone in the division, from General French down, has done that,’ Murdoch said.
Their goal now was Waterval Drift, beyond which was the first practical river crossing of the Riet—which branched off from the Modder just below the railway bridge—at De Kiel’s Drift, a couple of miles further on. Progress was slow at first because of the intense darkness, and more than once French called a halt to regain his bearings. But with sunrise the rapid walk was continued, until they came in sight of the kopjes surrounding Waterval. Instantly flanking parties were thrown out and preparations were made to go into action should the drift be defended, and just in time, for a few minutes later a gun exploded and then fired again, the second shot bursting close to the general and his staff.
‘Colonel Eustace,’ French told the officer commanding the horse artillery, ‘wheel your batteries and blast that fellow.’
Clearly the hills were defended by a considerable Boer force, but French determined to ignore them—except for a brief bombardment—and continued to lead his men past the kopjes in their march for the ford. The rapidity of his dispositions, the total confidence with which the British proceeded—in contrast to the ponderous and uncertain movements of earlier days—and the absence of any baggage train, all had their effect in confusing the Boers. Realising that they could not now stop the division from reaching the drift, they soon withdrew from the hills and hurried north themselves; the British found the ford undefended.
Thus far all had gone very much according to plan. The Boers were obviously still unaware of the real objective of the expedition, or even of the enormous strength of the invading force, and at present seemed to regard it as merely a large-scale cavalry raid. The British had gained their first objective, and were now well to the east of Magersfontein, with only the Modder left between themselves and Kimberley.
Now, however, it was necessary to wait, holding the ford, until the first of the infantry came up—and the supply train as well, for both men and horses were out of food. It had been hoped that these would arrive on that Monday afternoon, but they did not reach the drift until dusk. Then distributing food and fodder took longer than had been anticipated. Thus it was not until early the following morning that French, having seen that the infantry brigade was firmly in control of the ford and would be able to hold it until Roberts and the main body came up, led his men on to reach Klip Ford on the Modder, if possible by nightfall.
Now they were very definitely in enemy country; every farm that they approached had been abandoned. It was also a tremendously hot day, and must have been hot and dry in this area for some time: there was no water in any of the various pools they came across, and as French insisted on maintaining a fast pace, it was on this day that the horses began to die. Soon they were all so exhausted that even the staff officers were walking and leading their mounts, while the field artillery were having a terrible time of it. Just before noon they at last came to a pool of good water, but the order was passed back that no one was to stop; the water was to be left for the infantry toiling behind them, who would be suffering even more.
Worst of all, the intense heat caused the bush several times to burst into flames, and their parched throats and nostrils were assaulted by clouds of smoke. A despatch rider came up to inform them that the fires had burned out the telegraph line the sappers had been laying behind them, and they were thus cut off from any communication with Lord Roberts.
That afternoon mounted Boers were seen on the north-eastern horizon. General Gordon’s brigade was now forming the advance guard, and he called on the dragoons to move towards the Boers and disperse them before the main body of the division came up—and also to make sure they did not retreat to the west towards Cronje and the main Boer army, which with luck was still waiting to be attacked on Magersfontein.
‘Action at last,’ Morton shouted, kicking his horse forward as the regiment moved out, the three squadrons abreast.
‘Are you sure you want to be involved in this, Caspar?’ Murdoch asked.
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ the correspondent told him, although, as he was also wearing khaki, no Boer would be able to tell the difference between him and any of the troopers.
They rode forward at a steady trot—their horses were too tired to go much faster—and the Boers, after exchanging some shots at long range, rode off towards the kopjes now coming into sight. Colonel Edmonds led the regiment in pursuit, but as they approached the treacherous broken ground called a halt to make some tactical dispositions. Rodgers’ squadron was sent to the west, in an enveloping movement; Shortland’s was held in reserve, and Edmonds himself led Morton’s directly into the hills.
‘Some country,’ Caspar remarked, as they began to file between the hillocks of the rising ground. ‘What the Sioux would make of this...’
The Boers were apparently just as adept as the Sioux, and a volley came from their left. Several men were hit, and the bugler blared the command to dismount and take cover. Murdoch hurled himself from the saddle, Sergeant Bishop to one side, Caspar and Reynolds to the other, while the rest of the troop followed their example, lying behind the rocks and thrusting their Lee-Metfords forward as they sought some sign of the enemy. Behind them Morton’s troop faced the other way, and they listened anxiously for some indication that Rodgers’
squadron was coming up from behind the Boer position. But the next burst of firing came from a good way away, and was accompanied by the heavier crump of a field gun. They realised that they had stumbled on to a much stronger Boer force than envisaged, and that Rodgers could be in deeper trouble than themselves.
‘Sound the recall to Captain Rodgers,’ Edmonds told the bugler. ‘Captain Morton, prepare to take your men out of here and rejoin Captain Shortland. Send a rider back to General Gordon to tell him that we need reinforcements and artillery.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Morton acknowledged. ‘Squadron will prepare to mount.’
The men scrambled amidst the rocks to regain their horses.
‘Mount,’ Morton shouted, and everyone got into the saddle as quickly as possible. ‘Squadron will withdraw,’ Morton bellowed, an order which was obeyed with alacrity, as the Boer bullets were again humming about them.
Murdoch hung behind while his men gained the partial shelter of the next line of kopjes, then looked back to check that all the wounded had been taken out, and thus saw Colonel Edmonds fall. The colonel had waited further behind him, to make sure the entire squadron had got out; now, as Murdoch watched in dismay, it appeared that both he and his horse were hit simultaneously, because both went down with a thump.
‘Take command, Sergeant Bishop,’ he shouted, and spurred Lucifer back to where his commander lay. Shots buzzed around his head, but he presumed he was the luckiest man alive because none touched him. Dimly he heard Morton shouting behind him, but he ignored the captain and rode up to the colonel, who was trying to push himself up, but with great difficulty—blood was pouring from the wound in his leg.
Murdoch dismounted. ‘Here, sir,’ he said, thrusting his left arm round Edmonds’ shoulder, as he remembered Reynolds doing for him at Belmont. He raised him up and tried to get him on to Lucifer’s back.
The Regiment Page 9