GLENCOE

President Kruger had been informed A of the chaotic state of affairs, and arrived at Glencoe early the next morning.  The burghers were called together, and the President, leaning out of the window of his railway carriage, asked them to join him in singing a psalm.  He then offered up a fervent prayer for guidance, after which he addressed the burghers, reproaching them for their want of confidence in an all-powerful Providence, and exhorting them to take courage afresh and continue the struggle for the sake of their posterity, which one day would judge their acts.

“Whither would you flee?” he asked us.  “The enemy will pursue you, and tear you from the arms of your wives.  The man who surrenders takes the first step into exile.  Brothers!  Stand firm, and you will not be forsaken!”

As the father of his people spoke, the doubts and fears that had filled the breasts of the multitude disappeared.  Forgotten were the days and weeks of hunger, heat, and thirst; forgotten the ghastly shrapnel showers, the soul-crushing crash of the awful lyddite shell, the unnerving possibility of sudden death that for months had darkly loomed across their lives, and every man felt the glorious fires of patriotism rekindle in his bosom.

Then General Joubert spoke.

“If I be the stumbling-block in the way of our success, then I pray God to remove me,” was the humble prayer of the warrior grown grey in wars, who now found himself too feeble to direct the forces with his wonted vigour.  He then reminded us of brave deeds done in the past, and expressed his confidence in the future, provided we did not lose heart.

When the General had finished, he sent officers round to marshal the men into some sort of order.  It was wonderful to see the change in the spirit of the burghers.  Where but a moment before had been disheartened mutterings and sulky looks were now smiling faces and cheerful conversation.  With alacrity the men came forward, gave their names, and that of their respective commandoes, and took in the positions assigned them.  The danger was past.  Even the news of Cronje’s surrender, which was soon after made public, did not have more than a transient effect.  The anxiety as to his fate had been so keen that even to know the worst was a relief.

For two disquieting days, however, nothing was heard of the rearguard.  To our relief it turned up on the third day.  Several weeks of quiet followed, the British resting after their giant efforts, whilst we prepared to stem their further advance when it should take place.  During this period of inaction on the part of the enemy I was sent down into Zululand, and stationed at a small spot named Nqutu, near Isandhlwana, Rorke’s Drift, Blood River, and other scenes of stirring battles fought in former days.  At Rorke’s Drift could be seen, in good repair, the graves of the gallant men who fell in defending the passage through the river against the Zulus after the British disaster at Isandhlwana.