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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:41:11 GMT -5
various expedients, and when the resources of the driver had been exhausted, he decided to take the brute back to camp and return with a fresh animal, promising faithfully to return in about two hours. I lay on the ground wrapped in a horse-rug, quite alone, and waited; hour after hour passed, but no driver returned. The night was extremely cold; I had no fire, and very little covering, and I did not get a wink of sleep. All night long wild animals made the night hideous with weird and blood-curdling sounds. Lying there in the dark, helpless and unarmed, I could hear the sound of sticks breaking only a few yards away, and as my ideas of Rhodesia were largely associated with lions and other man-eating carnivora, I concluded that before morning there would be a vacancy for a sergeant in my regiment. Shortly after daylight the driver put in an appearance, and a start was made for the camp, which was reached about 8 o'clock. After being examined by the medical officer, I was taken on to the hospital and admitted. The hospital was a low, corrugated iron building, filled with canvas stretchers, and each patient had to provide his own bedding, which in many cases was teeming with vermin. The food was wretched and the attendance worse. The food consisted principally of hashed-up "Maconochie ration" (a mysterious kind of tinned meat and vegetables) and boiled rice, with occasionally a bit of bread in lieu of army biscuits. This would be placed in the doorway by the cook in a couple of large pots, from which the patients had to help themselves; those who were unable to get up ran a risk of getting nothing at all unless they had a comrade to serve them. There were three or four hospital orderlies, whose time appeared to be occupied in bossing some half a dozen Kaffir boys. I would have almost starved if I had not been able to get provisions from outside, which my comrades purchased for me from the canteen; most of this food was "commandeered" by the night orderlies while I slept. A wash was a luxury and a bath unknown. My knee had first been strapped in plaster, then blistered, and afterwards put in a splint and tightly bandaged, and I was ordered complete rest. No part of this treatment seemed to do me any good. After I had been in hospital fifteen days, a Medical Board came and sat around me, and examined me, and decided to invalid me home to Australia. I pleaded to be allowed to remain, or sent to the Cape for a change; but I was informed that it would probably be months before I would be fit for mounted duty again. I was taken, with about forty other invalids, and put on board the train. The accommodation was disgraceful, and the management scandalous. A few men who had rheumatic fever were helpless and incapable of moving, while others were debilitated and weakened by malaria and dysentery; all were indiscriminately herded together in a couple of covered-in trucks, amongst baggage kit and rations. The rations provided consisted of the usual boulli beef and biscuits, with a little jam--no "medical comforts," not even bread. There was one carriage on the train that was monopolised by an Imperial Yeomanry officer and a few of his men, who were being "invalided" home as useless; in his charge we were sent to the coast. Dr. Kelly, a Victorian who accompanied us, did all in his power under the circumstances. At Umtali he arranged for us to be supplied with suitable food from the railway refreshment rooms, and here we secured a stock for the remainder of the journey. Another carriage was attached to the train, and four of us commandeered a compartment, and made ourselves comfortable in a four-berth sleeper. An Imperial Yeomanry lance-corporal came along, and affecting a lot of bounce, wanted to eject us, as the room was wanted for some of his comrades. We told him what we thought of him in good Australian language, and remained in possession. Leaving at 7 in
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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:40:44 GMT -5
homes of struggling settlers whom the natives had swooped down upon and massacred; this was made painfully evident by the lonely graves close by. After five days' trekking through bush veldt country we reached Rusapi, a small trading station on the railway about half way between Umtali and Marrandellas; we bivouacked near the river. I shall always have a lively recollection of this camp. I turned in as usual after dark--that is, I rolled myself up in my blanket, and lay on the ground with my saddle for a pillow. It was a bitterly cold night, but being tired I soon dropped off to sleep. Towards morning I woke with a most awful pain in my right knee, which had become very stiff and much swollen. I began to think of snakes and poisonous insects, but on examination I could find no trace of anything having bitten me. With the assistance of one of my comrades I went in search of the doctor, who examined me, and informed me that I was suffering from a severe attack of "synovitis" (inflammation of the membranes of the joint). He ordered me to be taken on one of the transport waggons and to bathe my knee with cold water as often as possible. That ride, which lasted seven days, was one of the most agonising of my experiences. I sat on the top of the waggon, which was loaded with supplies, and was unable even to lie down with any comfort, while the bumping and jolting intensified the pain until it became almost unbearable. At night, when we outspanned, I would lie under the waggon out of the night dews. Sleep was out of the question; I could only listen to the jackals and hyenas howling round the camp. In the daytime I would try to chum in with the Dutch driver, but I found him extremely taciturn; he would sit on the front of the waggon and smoke all day, and it was only when we got stuck in a drift, or at some other tight pinch, that he would get off and flog the oxen most unmercifully. One of the oxen, which was a bit of a warrigal, or a "bi-schellum" as he termed it, he named "Englishman," and when the whip was being used poor "Englishman" received more attention than the rest of the team put together. Racial hatred was then at a very high pitch, and no opportunity was lost in giving expression to it. Although, perhaps, since peace was declared opinions are not so openly discussed, in the hearts of the Dutch race this hatred undoubtedly still exists, and is likely to exist through generations yet to come, though in the meantime it may be kept in check through the rifle and at the point of the sword. As we continued our journey, on one occasion we got stuck in a drift or ford, among rocks and boulders. After several unsuccessful attempts to get out, our team was supplemented by another span; the result was equally unsuccessful. A third was then attached, making a span of nearly sixty oxen; again they tried to start, the drivers and natives shrieking, slashing, swearing, and shouting as though Pandemonium were let loose. This time the pole broke, and the waggon was left standing in the stream; eventually it was got upon the bank and the teams outspanned while the pole was repaired. When nearing Marrandellas the troops went on into camp, leaving the transports some five or six miles out on the road. We had camped for the night, and my leg was so stiff and painful that I could not put it to the ground. I was anxiously waiting for the morrow, when I would be able to go into hospital and get some kind of treatment. During the evening a spring cart was sent out from the camp to the waggons for the officers' kits, and I embraced what I thought was an opportunity of getting into hospital instead of spending another night on the veldt. I was put in the cart, and all went well for about two miles, when we came to a drift with a steep bank on either side. As soon as we started on the upgrade, the horse stopped dead, and neither whip nor coaxing would make him move. After about an hour wasted in
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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:40:15 GMT -5
had kept on the rails the whole way without a break-down or a smash-up; I had noticed broken and overturned rolling-stock at intervals along the line. About five miles out from Beira we passed through a belt of typical tropical jungle, dense undergrowth of bamboo and scrub, while overhead the trees were decked with parasite plant life, and festooned with many kinds of creeper. The Queensland bean was very prominent, its gigantic pods from six to eight feet in length hanging from the stems. We stayed at Bamboo Creek four days--quite long enough, judging by the look of the cemetery opposite the camp, which had been well filled from the Imperial Yeomanry who had passed through ahead of us, a number having been employed in the workshops there building rolling-stock. The town consisted of a couple of tin shanties, where the principal drink sold was bad wine. I had been left behind with a party of men to strike camp and gather up all camp equipment that remained, and entrain it for Umtali; I was not sorry when we got on our way. After travelling all night we stopped at Mandegas for breakfast and to feed the horses. The country round here consists of vast plains; the landscape is bare and uninviting, and deficient in water and tree growth. After leaving Mandegas behind, the physical features of the country begin to change; isolated kopjes rise out of the veldt, and bold and picturesque outlines of ranges appear in the distance. We wound our way through the rugged gorges of Massi-Kessi, an important gold-mining district on the plateau which stretches along the Portuguese boundary, and, passing into Mashonaland, arrived at Umtali, in Rhodesia, and pitched our camp in the station yard. I was favourably impressed with this town on account of the number and character of its buildings, its telephone service, and general up-to-date appearance; it is one of those little towns that are just moving ahead on account of the rich goldfields in the neighbourhood. It is prettily situated in a kind of great basin, almost surrounded by high mountain ranges. A little agriculture is done in this district, a settlement of Dutch farmers having been placed there by Cecil Rhodes, who himself had a model farm a little to the north. The grass grew very long and rank, and appeared as if it would carry any number of stock. The Chartered Company afterwards put on it a thousand head of cattle which had been shipped from Australia and brought in via Beira. I afterwards met one of the men who had gone over with them and herded them at Umtali; he informed me that the experiment had been a complete failure; although they had arrived in splendid condition, the whole of them died within six months, and he had been stricken with malarial fever. We were now in British territory, so it was decided to leave the railway and go on "trek" to Marrandellas; the Dutch settlers furnished the transports. Leaving Umtali we took the road through Christmas Pass, and rose several thousand feet as we wound our way through the mountains which encircle the town. The scenery as we rose higher and higher became more magnificent and enchanting; all around us was rank vegetation, among which ferns and beautiful wild flowers grew in great profusion, and gay-plumaged birds flitted about. Occasionally we got a glimpse of a distant landscape of fantastic and rugged grandeur, glorified by the setting sun. The climate being dry and the air so remarkably clear, even at a great distance the landscape stands out very distinctly. We passed through Old Umtali, which had been a flourishing little settlement before the railway line was built, and had been the scene of much fighting during the last native insurrection. A mission station was about all that remained, and in its garden I noticed old rifle barrels being used to stake young fruit-trees. Along the road were deserted and tumble-down farm houses, once the
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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:38:29 GMT -5
that comes not make lines round their eyes, and puts grey into their beards. They have got their own method of going out to fight, and that method is as distinct from that of the regular Tommy as Tommy's is foreign to the C.I.V. Tommy goes forth to battle in a workmanlike manner. He seldom writes farewell letters, but grabs a hunk of biscuit, gives his water-bottle a shake to see how much he has got, buckles on his pouches and bayonet, and, with the instinct bred on a dozen barrack squares, smooths the creases out of his stained khaki jacket. Then he picks up his rifle and eyes it critically, jerks back the bolt and squints up the barrel--Tommy, the workman, is careful of his tools--pushes back the bolt, mechanically snaps the trigger, fixes his helmet firmly on his head, and steps out to join his company. The C.I.V. when I knew him first was somewhat self-conscious. His rifle was clean, his bandolier was ready to put on, his coat was nicely rolled, his putties were evenly fixed; long before the fall-in bugle sounded he was ready for parade--for he was very keen. When the bugle sounded he picked up his rifle, not carelessly, as did his brother of the line, but reverently and with care. He adjusted his broad-brimmed hat, he patted his bayonet to see if it was there, and went out to face the pock-marked trenches with the proud consciousness that at the worst he would make a picturesque casualty. The Bushman knows his rifle as the city man knows his walking-stick. He feels neither contempt nor awe for it. It is a commercial asset, a domestic property. Perhaps he keeps his wife in dresses by shooting kangaroos; perhaps he keeps himself in whisky by tracking wallabies. His equipment is scanty. He has a bandolier, perhaps a pouch, possibly a mess-tin, certainly a "billy." When the parade-call goes he falls in with his fellows, and numbers off from the right somewhat sheepishly. On parade he is a unit and has to do as he's told, and he isn't quite used to submitting his will to those of others in authority. "Fours right!" He wheels round awkwardly. If he makes a slip he causes his horse to buck to cover his confusion. "Walk--march!" He is off, and he feels easier. Then comes the splitting up of his squadron into little independent patrols, and he breathes freely, for with a couple of kindred spirits on a scouting trip he is a man once more with a soul of his own. He sees most things and acts quickly. Before the "ping" of the sniper's bullet has died away he is off his horse and under cover. Then, if the sniper is an intelligent man, he won't move about much, for when a Bushman has located his quarry he can lie quite still for an hour at a stretch, his cheek touching the stock, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. These are the men who are holding Eland's River--men who live on "damper" and tea--men whose progress through Rhodesia was marked by many dead horses and much profanity. They wanted to fight badly. They prayed that they might get into a tight place. Their prayer is answered. If you knew the Eland's River garrison you would not pity them, you would rejoice with them. CHAPTER III. ROUND ABOUT BEIRA. Life in camp at Beira was almost a repetition of Langwarrin, being principally occupied in attending to and exercising the horses. On my arrival in camp I was instructed by Captain Dallimore to act as squadron-quartermaster-sergeant; my duties were to see that rations and forage were drawn daily and all camp equipment kept in order. Occasionally I went out on the veldt when exercising the horses; there appeared to be plenty of game about, and whenever a small buck rose up close to us there would be a hue-and-cry after it. Sometimes we would succeed in running it down in the long grass. It was rather dangerous sport galloping through the long grass, as one was very likely to come a nasty cropper over a hidden ant-heap. We were not allowed to take rifles out with us, but a revolver would always be forthcoming; this was used instead, but never with very great success. On one of these outings I got my first glimpse of the Kaffirs at home. The kraals are neat little round grass huts, much resembling the old-fashioned straw bee-hives, with one small opening as a door, but so small that one would require to go on all-fours to get inside. Gaunt-looking natives, clad in only a "moucha," or loin cloth, sat lazily about, while little picaninnies, naked as when born, played around. The women, who appeared to be doing all the work, would dart inside like rabbits into a burrow when anyone approached. When we came up a group had been busily engaged round a large pot of Kaffir corn, black-looking stuff resembling linseed meal when cooked. My opinion of the Kaffir, which was formed after later experiences, is not a good one. In his raw state, in his skins and cats' tails, he is physically and morally not a bad fellow; he will work intermittently, and much like a child, as if it were play. But as soon as he has been brought into contact with the civilising influence of the mission stations, and has discarded his cats' tails for European dress, and begins to ape the white man, he becomes a bore, and combines all the white man's vices with his own innate cunning and deceit, and his ruin is accomplished. He will not work in the hot sun, and when it is cold or raining is the most miserable of creatures, and almost incapable of work. The Dutchmen could only manage them by instilling energy into them from the end of a "sjambok." As a fighting man the Kaffir is worse than useless. I would rather have one white man than a whole regiment of Kaffirs. Most men who have had any lengthened experience among so-called Christianised natives, and have studied the work of the missionaries among them, are inclined to term mission stations "bosh," and the stations are rarely supported by anyone who has studied them from behind the scenes. In return for his labour the native receives a smattering of education, and it is not unusual to meet a young native in the vicinity of a mission station with his face buried in a preparatory primer, ejaculating from memory, "I see a dog," "This is my dog," "God is my father," "God is in heaven." As the coloured population in South Africa runs into many millions, the native question will always remain a big item in South African politics. Until polygamy and other privileges he now enjoys under tribal rights and customs are abolished the Kaffir will never become a good worker. At present he is allowed to have as many wives as he wishes; it is not "as many as he can afford to keep," for they are practically his slaves, and do the work to keep him, while he idles about the kraal smoking and drinking "joualla" or Kaffir beer. With proper legislation, management, and treatment coloured labour would never need to be imported to South Africa. The evils of the importation are seen to-day in Natal, where the Hindu holds the monopoly in many trades. CHAPTER IV. ON THE SICK LIST. The country about Beira is very flat, and at times much of the land becomes flooded, and the roads have to be raised six or eight feet to be passable. During our stay there the Portuguese Governor and suite paid a visit to the New South Wales camp, which had been grandly decorated for the occasion with palms, banana trees, and other tropical vegetation. His Excellency greatly admired the troops and the splendid condition of the Australian horses; also Captain Ryrie's unique exhibition of boomerang throwing. We had been at Beira nearly a month, during which time troops had been dribbling through to Rhodesia. At last it was our turn to be passed on to Bamboo Creek; we entrained at four in the afternoon, and reached Bamboo Creek at three in the morning--90 miles in eleven hours. It was considered quite a record trip. We had been very fortunate in that the train
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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:38:01 GMT -5
troops, being almost unbearable day and night. Beira Harbour was reached on the morning of 22nd May, 1900. The British gunboat "Partridge" came out and met us. We were all very anxious to know how the war was going, as we had not heard any news since leaving Melbourne. Mafeking had been relieved on the 17th, but there was still plenty to do. Pretoria had not then been occupied. We anchored in the harbour, opposite the town. The "Armenian," with the New South Wales contingent on board, had arrived a few days before, and we were greeted with ringing cheers when we dropped anchor alongside. As there was no pier, everything had to be landed in lighters. The horses were taken off in a kind of flat-bottomed barge 20 ft. square; a tug boat would take it within a chain or so of the land, and a team of Kaffirs would then wade in and seize hold of a rope and haul it on to the beach. Owing to the harbour being full of shipping, we had rather an exciting time on one of the lighters. In dodging among the other boats, we got foul of an anchor chain, and were cast adrift, starting off with the tide at a great rate. Our tug-boat, while manoeuvring round to pick us up, was run into by another tug. After much gesticulating and vociferating on the part of the Portuguese captains, we were taken in tow again, and eventually landed on the beach. While we were waiting in the harbour, the "Manhattan" arrived with the South Australian, West Australian, and Tasmanian contingents; she afterwards returned to Durban and landed her troops there. The 24th being the Queen's Birthday, there was a great display of bunting in the bay. At night there were fireworks, and a patriotic concert held on board. We sang "Boys of the Bulldog Breed," "Tommy Atkins," and "God Save the Queen" till "lights out." After landing at Beira, we encamped about half a mile outside the town, adjoining the Remount Depot, where over 2000 horses, principally Hungarian ponies, were paddocked. These ponies were real little beauties to look at, and many looked fit to win a Melbourne Cup, but rather fine for remounts. Beira is a wretched little place, built on a narrow ridge of sand along the beach. The old part of the town is built principally of galvanised iron, with here and there standing out prominently a modern building of brick, roofed with red tiles. The streets are usually ankle deep in loose sand; narrow tramways are laid down along the streets, and townspeople and tradesmen have their own private cars, which are pushed along by Kaffirs. These cars take the place of vehicular traffic, cabs and rickshaws being conspicuous by their absence. The cars are a motley collection. Some are of very rude workmanship, pushed along by a couple of dirty and almost naked Kaffirs, while others are of a more modern and aristocratic type, being hooded and upholstered, and propelled by as many as four gaily-dressed Kaffir boys. The railway (of 2-ft. gauge) and trains were built on a miniature scale; it was quite amusing to see them going along. Judging by the way the wheels went round, the smoke and noise, one would think he was travelling at least 60 miles an hour, when in reality he was travelling about six. At this time troops were being sent into Rhodesia, and the Chartered Company was laying down a broad gauge in place of the narrow gauge between Salisbury and Beira. The contractor had completed it as far as Bamboo Creek, a malaria-stricken swamp 90 miles inland from Beira, and I wondered why the broader gauge was not pushed on to Beira, as the traffic there had become very congested. From credible information I learned that the contractors were getting £1000 per day for taking the troops through the Portuguese territory, and doubtless had their own time to do it in. It was scandalous that thousands of men, wholly unused to such a climate, should be kept for months in such an unhealthy district, where fever and dysentery were undermining the constitutions of hundreds of them. Several corps of Australian Bushmen had arrived at Beira just a month before us, and had gone through to Marrandellas. Some time after, the following article with reference to them was written and published in an English journal:-- To say that they were extremely annoyed would be describing their feelings too mildly. They were very savage; they forgot themselves slightly, and swore with force and originality. They cursed Rhodesia, they cursed fate, they cursed their various Governments, but mostly they cursed their Governments, for they are a very political people these Australians, weaned on manifestoes and reared on Parliamentary debates. They cursed their Governments, knowing by heart their weaknesses, and ever ready to attribute the non-success of any undertaking--be it political, social, or warlike--to the dilatory action of certain members of the divers Cabinets. "The Government ought never to have sent us up here at all," a Queenslander spoke with great earnestness, "if they wanted us to see any fighting. Got to Beira in April, now it's June, and--" They were "out of it." Pretoria was occupied. This was the news which had spread the wave of pessimism over a little wayside camp on the Bulawayoroad--a camp on the fringe of the long white road, which wound south and dipped north. The Sabakwe River trickled through the land, a stone's throw from the white tilted waggons drawn tailboard to pole to form a rough laager, and the heavy-eyed oxen stood knee-deep in its sluggish waters. North, or rather north-east, several nights away, was Marrandellas. South of that, and far, was Beira, and it was two months ago since they had left. Two months, and Mafeking had been relieved, Johannesburg entered, Pretoria occupied. Therefore the Bushmen, who dreamt not of Eland's River, and to whom Zeerust was a name in a gazetteer, grew despondent. "Do you think there is a chance of fighting, sir?" I could not answer the Victorian who asked, nor did I have the heart to reprove the Tasmanian who swore. "Well," remarked the Queenslander, "all I can say is, that if we don't see any fighting it will be a shame." He qualified shame. "We didn't come out here to be piffled through this country." There was an adjective before country. "If I wanted to admire scenery I'd have stayed in Queensland. If I wanted gold I'd have gone to Rockhampton. As for land, well, if any of you fellers want land I'll sell you a run of 6000 acres of the best land in the world." They are peculiar, the men who are holding Eland's River; they are not soldiers as we in London know soldiers; they don't like shouldering arms by numbers, and they vote squad drill "damn silly." They are poor marching men, for they have been used to riding; they ride firmly, but not gracefully. The horses they prefer are great, rough, upstanding brutes that buck themselves into inverted V's when they are mounted, and stand on their hind legs to express their joy. The Bushman will ride a horse for a hundred miles without thinking it anything extraordinary, and bring it in in good condition, but he cannot go for a couple of miles without galloping the poor brute to death. He is very careful how he feeds his mount, and would sooner go without food himself than his dumb friend should be hungry, but it takes a troop-sergeant-major and three corporals to make a Bushman groom his horse. They are very patient, these men; their training makes them so. They have learnt to sit by waterholes and watch sheep, dividing their time between week-old papers and day-old lambs. Politics interest them; wars--ordinary every-day war that does not call for their active interference--interest them; but the price of wool interests them more than all these things. Russian famines distress them, Indian plagues alarm them, but the blue staring sky and the rain
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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:37:35 GMT -5
morning, and passed the heads about 11 a.m. I saw many of my old Queenscliff comrades signalling and gesticulating from the forts as we passed through the Rip. The pilot was next put off, and we were soon under way in earnest for South Africa. Cape Otway was the last glimpse we had of the home land, and owing to the "Victorian" keeping well out to sea, no more land was sighted until we were off the coast of Madagascar. As this was my first experience of a sea voyage, I fully expected that a bout of sea-sickness would be part of the programme, but such was not the case as far as I was concerned, and when I saw scores of my comrades hanging limply over the side and lying like dead men about the deck, I congratulated myself in the words of the Pharisee, "Thank God I am not as other men are." Everything on board was soon got into ship-shape order, and we lived fairly well. A large quantity of fruit and butter bad been sent on board as a gift for the use of the troops, and was greatly appreciated as a welcome addition to the bill of fare. My duties were to assist the regimental quartermaster-sergeant, and superintend the distribution of the horse feed. This was stowed in the hold, hoisted up daily, and portioned out to the different squadrons. The horses were a splendid lot, and stood the voyage remarkably well, only one dying during the trip. When about three days at sea a batch of stowaways made their appearance; they looked a motley and grimy crowd as they emerged from the coal bunkers. They were paraded before the ship's captain, who put them to work on the coal for the remainder of the voyage. On arrival at Beira they joined the Mashonaland Mounted Police. A little later we were paraded before the medical officers and vaccinated; it affected some very badly, and for a time they were quite incapable of doing any duty. After about five days out I was agreeably surprised when I was informed that I had been promoted to the rank of sergeant. I was put in charge of a squad to instil into them the contents of the "Red Book" on Infantry Drill. At times, when the boat gave a roll, more turnings were gone through than were set down in the drill book. CHAPTER II. THE VOYAGE TO AFRICA. It was now drill continuously all day and every day. Sergeant-Major Oakes, of the Victorian Rangers, held a class of instruction for non-commissioned officers every morning, and during the day Lieut.-Colonel Kelly would read to us from the bridge extracts from Queen's Regulations and Military Law, specially impressing upon us those parts which referred to the first duty of a soldier, "obedience to orders." Every Sunday church parade was held on deck; the services were conducted by the Rev. Major Holden, who accompanied us as far as Beira. Everyone had a good word for the chaplain, who was always moving about among the men, providing them with all kinds of books and writing material, and his many kindnesses were greatly appreciated by all. He edited and published a paper on board named "The A.I. Register," which was a great success. The demand for copies was so large that the supply of paper ran out, and publication ceased after the first issue. Occasionally we would have a shooting competition between the different squadrons; an empty box or fruit case would be dropped overboard as a target, and when it was about 200 yards away we would fire volleys at it. The results were watched by a party of officers on the bridge, and points were awarded for the best shooting. Almost every evening concerts were held on deck, a very fine piano having been given for the use of the troops by the Acting-Governor of Victoria, Sir John Madden. A phonograph was also much in evidence, and at times a boxing contest would also be indulged in. When we began to steer north-west the weather became very hot, and consequently trying for the
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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:36:25 GMT -5
been accidentally drowned while fishing at Warrnambool shortly after his return to Australia. Things went on apace in camp. The equipment department worked night and day transforming the civilian recruit into the puttied khaki soldier. Camp life was very pleasant at Langwarrin, for our friends used to come by the score, and bring well-filled hampers to picnic with us, and at night a large camp fire would be lighted and a concert held, while there was no fear of the enemy coming upon us unawares. On Sunday we were besieged by thousands of visitors, who begged earnestly from the soldiers a button or badge or some little keepsake as a memento. I myself was the recipient of several new coins, of coins with holes in them and battered halfpennies, which I was informed by the givers would bring me good luck. I am afraid I was born under an unlucky star, for if there is such a thing as luck, it did not come my way. I also received a presentation from a few of my old friends of a very nice silver-mounted letter wallet, with fountain pen and all the material necessary for a war correspondent, in order, doubtless, to keep them posted up with my experiences and doings and the number of Dutchmen I succeeded in despatching. The time passed very pleasantly, but there was another side to this--it rained in torrents for several days without ceasing, and the camp and horse lines became a veritable quagmire. It was then decided to move the camp and transfer the troops to the show-ground at Flemington. It was a memorable "trek" when we moved out for Flemington in the pouring rain; it damped the ardour of many a "contingenter," and numbers "handed in their kits." I was sent on with a fatigue party to prepare rations and forage for the rain-soaked troops and horses. But this was only for a few days; we had scarcely settled down when we were moved again to Langwarrin, and by the end of April all was in readiness for embarkation. Lieut.-Colonel Kelly, of the Victorian Field Artillery, had been selected to command the regiment. We left Langwarrin in full marching order about midday on 28th April and reached Mentone, where we bivouacked. In the morning my horse's nosebag was missing, but I found it some months later on the South African veldt. We arrived in Melbourne about noon on 29th April, and expected to embark the same afternoon on the transport "Victorian," lying at the Port Melbourne pier. Through some hitch, the boat was not ready to receive us, and we were again quartered at the show-ground at Flemington. On Tuesday, 1st May, we broke up camp. It was a glorious and never-to-be-forgotten day, and our march through the city was signalised by an unparalleled demonstration of popular applause. The streets were packed, and in places the troops could only pass in single file. Handkerchiefs, sweets, and all kinds of good things were pressed upon us as we passed through the crowd. On arrival at the pier, the work of embarking the horses was at once commenced, and over 700 were shipped and stalled in less than four hours. Getting the troops on board was a more difficult matter, as there was so much leave-taking and so many good-byes to say. The boat was cleared of visitors and put off from the pier, anchoring for the night opposite Williamstown. All on board was confusion and bustle, and many of the crew had been having a jolly time and were incapable of performing their duties. We got nothing that night in the shape of rations; fortunately we had our haversacks to fall back on, which provided sufficient for the day. Later on hammocks were brought out and slung. It was a new experience for me to sleep in one, and I fancy I must have slung mine too slack, for when I got into it my head and my feet almost touched, and I think I must have resembled a mammoth wood-grub in repose. We weighed anchor about 7 a.m. on Wednesday morning, and passed the heads about 11 a.m. I saw many of my old Queenscliff comrades signalling and gesticulating from the forts as we passed through the Rip. The pilot was next put off, and we were soon under way in earnest for South Africa. Cape Otway was the last glimpse we had of the home land, and owing to the "Victorian" keeping well out to sea, no more land was sighted until we were off the coast of Madagascar. As this was my first experience of a sea voyage, I fully expected that a bout of sea-sickness would be part of the programme, but such was not the case as far as I was concerned, and when I saw scores of my comrades hanging limply over the side and lying like dead men about the deck, I congratulated myself in the words of the Pharisee, "Thank God I am not as other men are." Everything on board was soon got into ship-shape order, and we lived fairly well. A large quantity of fruit and butter bad been sent on board as a gift for the use of the troops, and was greatly appreciated as a welcome addition to the bill of fare. My duties were to assist the regimental quartermaster-sergeant, and superintend the distribution of the horse feed. This was stowed in the hold, hoisted up daily, and portioned out to the different squadrons. The horses were a splendid lot, and stood the voyage remarkably well, only one dying during the trip. When about three days at sea a batch of stowaways made their appearance; they looked a motley and grimy crowd as they emerged from the coal bunkers. They were paraded before the ship's captain, who put them to work on the coal for the remainder of the voyage. On arrival at Beira they joined the Mashonaland Mounted Police. A little later we were paraded before the medical officers and vaccinated; it affected some very badly, and for a time they were quite incapable of doing any duty. After about five days out I was agreeably surprised when I was informed that I had been promoted to the rank of sergeant. I was put in charge of a squad to instil into them the contents of the "Red Book" on Infantry Drill. At times, when the boat gave a roll, more turnings were gone through than were set down in the drill book. CHAPTER II. THE VOYAGE TO AFRICA. It was now drill continuously all day and every day. Sergeant-Major Oakes, of the Victorian Rangers, held a class of instruction for non-commissioned officers every morning, and during the day Lieut.-Colonel Kelly would read to us from the bridge extracts from Queen's Regulations and Military Law, specially impressing upon us those parts which referred to the first duty of a soldier, "obedience to orders." Every Sunday church parade was held on deck; the services were conducted by the Rev. Major Holden, who accompanied us as far as Beira. Everyone had a good word for the chaplain, who was always moving about among the men, providing them with all kinds of books and writing material, and his many kindnesses were greatly appreciated by all. He edited and published a paper on board named "The A.I. Register," which was a great success. The demand for copies was so large that the supply of paper ran out, and publication ceased after the first issue. Occasionally we would have a shooting competition between the different squadrons; an empty box or fruit case would be dropped overboard as a target, and when it was about 200 yards away we would fire volleys at it. The results were watched by a party of officers on the bridge, and points were awarded for the best shooting. Almost every evening concerts were held on deck, a very fine piano having been given for the use of the troops by the Acting-Governor of Victoria, Sir John Madden. A phonograph was also much in evidence, and at times a boxing contest would also be indulged in. When we began to steer north-west the weather became very hot, and consequently trying for the
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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:35:57 GMT -5
looked me up and down, and remarked that I was too "big and heavy," and all my hopes were dashed to the ground. We congratulated those whom we thought were the fortunate ones, and hoped for better luck ourselves should another contingent be required. As time went on, and reports came to hand of hard fighting and much tougher work than had been anticipated, I got more tired than ever of barrack-room soldiering, and hankered for something more real and exciting. Another call was made, another contingent was to be sent; my prospects began to brighten, but only two men were selected from the R.A.A., two quartermaster-sergeants. With the third contingent no opportunity was given to me to join. Shortly after a fourth contingent was raised, to be known as the Australian Imperial Regiment. The qualifications for the Regiment were bush experience, and that every man should be able to ride and shoot. The "machines," or the men who could merely drill and move their arms and feet as though they were worked on wire, without having the above qualifications, had no place in this contingent. I was among the successful applicants from the R.A.A., as I had been born in the bush, could ride almost as soon as I could walk, and had learned to shoot almost as soon as I learned anything. My actual military experience was gained during the twelve months I was with the R.A.A. As soon as selected, I, with my comrades, was sent to the Victoria Barracks, Melbourne, for examination and tests. While there it was my duty to assist at the Mounted Police Depot, receiving, breaking, branding, and trucking remounts prior to sending them into camp at Langwarrin, also attending with horses at the Domain for the riding test. This riding test seemed to be looked upon by the general public as a kind of circus, and was attended daily by thousands of spectators. The track was about half a mile round, and the test was to commence at a trot, break into a gallop, and negotiate three jumps. A man could judge fairly his chance of success by the applause or "barracking" as he passed the crowd. There were many good horsemen among the recruits, men who could ride anything anywhere, and not a few who could rarely have seen a horse, much less have ridden it over a jump. One little recruit, with a very theatrical appearance, known by the sobriquet of "Bland Holt," had a great struggle to get his halter on his horse, and when it came to putting on the bridle, which was one of the Mounted Police pattern, and rather a complicated piece of harness to a new chum, he got terribly tangled up. After about ten minutes struggling, panting, perspiring, and much whoo-whoaing, he succeeded in hanging the bridle on with the bit over the horse's ears. At this stage an Artilleryman went to his rescue and saddled his horse for him. When his turn came to ride, he led his horse before the examining officer, and with much difficulty succeeded in climbing into the saddle, and started off at a walk. "Trot!" shouted the officer. The horse quickened its pace, and "Bland Holt" and his hopes of doing yeoman service for the Empire fell to the ground. This was one of many similar incidents which took place during the fortnight the riding test lasted. About the end of March, 1900, I received orders to go into camp at Langwarrin. During the encampment there I acted as assistant to Camp Quartermaster-Sergeant Creaney, of the Hastings Battery. My duties were principally to requisition for rations and forage, and furnish returns to headquarters of any lost or worn-out equipment. On 3rd April I received my first promotion, and was made lance-corporal, and posted to the squadron under Captain J. Dallimore. This officer was very highly esteemed by all, and for bravery during the war he was promoted to the rank of major, and earned the D.S.O. While I was at Portland Prison, some years later, I learned, with the deepest regret, that the major had
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Post by Bromhead24 on Nov 19, 2007 18:35:19 GMT -5
Here is the true story of Breaker Morant as written by Lt. George witton Bushveldt carbineers
I will try to space it out. Enjoy.
INTRODUCTION. This book is dedicated to my fellow-citizens of the Commonwealth of Australia, in grateful recognition of their loyal, continuous, and successful efforts towards my release from an English prison. I have not attempted to defend the doings of the ill-starred Bushveldt Carbineers, or the policy of those who employed them. The methods of dealing with prisoners, which have been solely attributed to that corps, were in active operation before the so-called "Australian" officers went to the Spelonken district--a fact which the English press, and a large section of the Australian press, systematically ignored. When I arrived in Australia, I found that the grossest misrepresentations had been made by those primarily responsible for the manner of the warfare which "staggered humanity," and that they had succeeded in linking the name of Australia with the most tragic and odious incidents connected with a mercenary and inglorious war. If the publication of the truth will in some measure cause Australians, as a people, to take less on trust where their honour is concerned, and in future to demand the most searching enquiries and obtain definite proof before accepting the misdeeds of others as their own, then this record of an eventful experience will not have been written in vain. GEORGE R. WITTON. "THE ELMS." LANCEFIELD, VICTORIA. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Volunteering to Fight "For the Empire" CHAPTER II. The Voyage to Africa CHAPTER III. Round About Beira CHAPTER IV. On the Sick List CHAPTER V. The Australians in Cape Town CHAPTER VI. Commissioned in the Bushveldt Carbineers CHAPTER VII. The Origin of the Carbineers CHAPTER VIII. What Led to the Trouble CHAPTER IX. Death of Captain Hunt--Morant's Reprisals CHAPTER X. By Order--"No Quarter!" CHAPTER XI. Morant's Creditable Exploit CHAPTER XII. Ordered for Court-Martial CHAPTER XIII. Beyers--And the Flag he Slept On CHAPTER XIV. Further Proceedings of Court-Martial CHAPTER XV. Close of the Visser Case CHAPTER XVI. The Eight Boers Case CHAPTER XVII. The Second Court-Martial--Continued CHAPTER XVIII. In the Name of Justice! CHAPTER XIX. The German Missionary Case CHAPTER XX. Execution of Morant and Handcock CHAPTER XXI. "Imprisonment for Life!" CHAPTER XXII. Gaol Discipline and Prison Blunders CHAPTER XXIII. The Petition for Release CHAPTER XXIV. The Long Suspense CHAPTER XXV. Freedom at Last! SCAPEGOATS OF THE EMPIRE CHAPTER I. VOLUNTEERING TO FIGHT "FOR THE EMPIRE." When war was declared between the British and Boers, I, like many of my fellow-countrymen, became imbued with a warlike spirit, and when reverses had occurred among the British troops, and volunteers for the front were called for in Australia, I could not rest content until I had offered the assistance one man could give to our beloved Queen and the great nation to which I belong. When the first Australian Contingent was being prepared for active service, I was a gunner in the Royal Australian Artillery, and was stationed at Fort Franklin, opposite Queenscliff, Victoria. I was sworn to serve for five years in the Artillery, and this gave me little hope that my wish to go to Africa would be realised. But one day a notice appeared in brigade orders that a limited number of artillerymen would be selected for service at the front, all applicants to parade on the jetty at Portsea in full marching order. Between thirty and forty attended. Soon the launch "Mars" put in an appearance from Queenscliff with Lieut.-Colonel Charles Umphelby, O.C.R.A.A., on board. (Lieut.-Colonel Umphelby was killed on active service at Driefontein in 1900.) The O.C. inspected the men, and picked out one here and there; when he came to me he
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Post by Bromhead24 on Apr 25, 2007 14:37:08 GMT -5
I have a pretty fair collection of british foreign service helmets...have two ordered and when they arrive, i'll take photos
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Post by Bromhead24 on Apr 1, 2007 17:25:52 GMT -5
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Post by Bromhead24 on Mar 9, 2007 17:56:24 GMT -5
Welcome Stan, We hope you like it here.. ;D
Mike
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Post by Bromhead24 on Feb 18, 2007 12:15:09 GMT -5
Battle of Majuba Hill
British Regiments: Royal Navy: 15th Hussars. Royal Artillery 58th Regiment: later 2nd Battalion, the Northamptonshire Regiment and now the Royal Anglian Regiment. 2nd Battalion, 60th Rifles: now the Royal Green Jackets. 92nd Highlanders: later 2nd Battalion Gordon Highlanders and now the Highlanders. Majuba is not a British Battle Honour.
Combatants: British against the Boers of the Transvaal
Generals: Major General Sir George Pomeroy Colley against Commandant General J.P. Joubert. Size of the armies: Colley’s British force comprised only 22 officers and 627 men.
In early February 1881 Major General Sir George Colley, the British High Commissioner for South East Africa, lay at Newcastle in Natal ready to move up the road towards the Transvaal where the Boers were in revolt against British rule. The Boer demands were for self-rule under the overall suzerainty of Britain.
Substantial reinforcements were on the way to South Africa, but carried the disadvantage for Colley of bringing a senior general, Sir Frederick Roberts, to supercede him. Colley moved with the forces he had and suffered his first defeat at Laing’s Nek.
On 7th February 1881 Colley tried again, moving forward to the Ingogo River where he suffered another sharp reverse at the hands of the Boer riflemen. On 12th February 1881 Brigadier General Sir Evelyn Wood VC, a veteran of Britain’s colonial wars, arrived at Durban with regiments hurried over from India: the 15th Hussars, 2nd/60th Rifles and the 92nd Highlanders. Coming up with Colley, Wood persuaded him to stay put until the substantial reinforcements from Britain arrived at the front. Wood moved back to the Tugela River to organise the newly arriving troops.
Colley did not intend to comply with the compact he had made with Wood and on the night of 26th February 1881 he marched out, towards the Boer positions, with a small force of infantry: 22 officers and 627 men of the 58th Regiment, 60th Rifles, 92nd Highlanders and the Royal Navy contingent. This small force moved towards the Boer camp which lay on the far side of Mount Majuba.
2 companies of the 2nd/60th were left as a picket at the base of Mount Imguela on the way to Majuba with a dismounted troop of the 15th Hussars and 2 more companies of infantry a little further along the road.
The British force reached the top of Majuba Hill in the early morning and, exhausted, fell to the ground on the plateau that stretched the length of the oblong summit. Little was done to prepare a position. As dawn broke the Boers, encamped to the North East on lower ground, were in consternation at seeing the British above them. In trepidation they awaited an attack on their camp, but Colley did nothing.
Regaining their confidence the Boers began to work their way up the several sides of Majuba, while older marksmen covered them, picking off any soldier who appeared on the skyline and pinning down the British force. As the Boers moved up the sides of Majuba, the small size of Colley’s force became apparent. The British had not occupied the whole summit and the Boers were able to infiltrate to the top, bringing fire on the British troops from higher sections of the plateau. British casualties mounted. There was little coordinated command. Lieutenant (later General) Ian Hamilton urged Colley to charge the Boer line, but the general procrastinated, saying “Wait, wait.”
Finally the British infantry, suffering considerable loss, broke and fled from the top of the mountain, leaving a small group of 92nd Highlanders to be surrounded and captured. At the time of the break, Sir George Colley was shot dead. The troops rushed to the bottom of the hill, falling back on the picket companies which were themselves enveloped by the Boers, now mounted and in pursuit. Only a heavy bombardment from the Royal Artillery guns in the main camp stemmed the Boer advance. The battle was over. Of the small British force 283 became casualties. Boer casualties are not known but are likely to have been trifling.
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Post by Bromhead24 on Feb 14, 2007 8:52:18 GMT -5
The Gordon Highlanders encampment at the 2007 Riverside Dickens Festival, held February 3 thru 5. They fired off a few volleys with their Martini Henrys, as well as a Gatling Gun. They were supposed to have seen service in the Boer War. They fought at the battle of Majuba Hill (got their butts kicked by the Boers)
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Post by Bromhead24 on Aug 9, 2006 9:13:11 GMT -5
Some Austrailians in the second Boer War.
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Post by Bromhead24 on Jan 28, 2006 19:02:10 GMT -5
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Post by Bromhead24 on May 23, 2005 18:49:46 GMT -5
Alot of both wars were fought in and around the Zulu war territory.
I have many photo's to post as soon as i unpack from the move.
Mike
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Post by Bromhead24 on May 22, 2005 20:34:11 GMT -5
In this section we can discuss the 1st and 2nd Boer wars, 1881, 1898 thru to 1903.
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Post by Bromhead24 on Dec 8, 2005 14:48:09 GMT -5
Wheres the highland brigade? All kidding aside, is there a big interest in this kind of living history/reenacting?
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Post by Bromhead24 on Sept 16, 2004 19:06:05 GMT -5
Where at the wall did Keven Costner film one of his scenes for his "Robin Hood" movie?
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