London to Ladysmith via PretoriaChurchill, Winston
History
London to Ladysmith via Pretoria
Churchill, Winston
South African War, 1899-1902; Transvaal (South Africa) -- History
Their faces were plain and rough, but not unkindly. The little
narrow-set pig-eyes were the most displeasing feature. For the rest they
looked what they were, honest ignorant peasants with wits sharpened by
military training and the conditions of a new country. Presently I
noticed at the window furthest from the platform one of quite a
different type. A handsome boyish face without beard or moustache, and a
very amiable expression. We looked at each other. There was no one else
at that side of the carriage.
'Will you have some cigarettes?' he said, holding me out a packet. I
took one, and we began to talk. 'Is there going to be much more war?' he
inquired anxiously.
'Yes, very much more; we have scarcely begun,' He looked quite
miserable.
I said, 'You have not been at the front yet?'
'No, I am only just commandeered.'
'How old are you?'
'Sixteen.'
'That's very young to go and fight.'
He shook his head sadly.
'What's your name?'
'Cameron.'
'That's not a Dutch name?'
'No, I'm not a Dutchman. My father came from Scotland.'
'Then why do you go and fight against the British?'
'How can I help it? I live here. You must go when you're commandeered.
They wouldn't let me off. Mother tried her best. But it's "come out and
fight or leave the country" here, and we've got nothing but the farm.'
'The Government would have paid you compensation afterwards.'
'Ah! that's what they told father last time. He was loyal, and helped to
defend the Pretoria laager. He lost everything, and he had to begin all
over again.'
'So now you fight against your country?'
'I can't help it,' he repeated sullenly, 'you must go when you're
commandeered.' And then he climbed down off the footboard, and I did not
see him again--one piteous item of Gladstone's legacy--the ruined and
abandoned loyalist in the second generation.
Before the train left Volksrust we changed our guards. The honest
burghers who had captured us had to return to the front, and we were to
be handed over to the police. The leader of the escort--a dear old
gentleman--I am ignorant of his official rank--approached and explained
through Spaarwater that it was he who had placed the stone and so caused
our misfortunes. He said he hoped we bore no malice. We replied by no
means, and that we would do the same for him with pleasure any day.
Frankland asked him what rewards he would get for such distinguished
service. In truth he might easily have been shot, had we turned the
corner a minute earlier. The subaltern apparently contemplated some
Republican V.C. or D.S.O. But the farmer was much puzzled by his
question. After some explaining we learnt that he had been given
fourteen days' furlough to go home to his farm and see his wife. His
evident joy and delight were touching. I said 'Surely this is a very
critical time to leave the front. You may miss an important battle.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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