Isegoria

How does BF’s third dream of The Defence of Duffer’s Drift play out?

Next morning dawned brightly and uneventfully, and we had about an hour’s work improving details of our trenches before breakfasts were ready. Just as breakfast was over, the sentry on Waschout Hill reported a cloud of dust away to the north, by Regret Table Mountain. This was caused by a large party of mounted men with wheeled transport of some sort. They were most probably the enemy, and seemed to be trekking in all innocence of our presence for the drift.

What a “scoop” I thought, if they come on quite unsuspecting, and cross the drift in a lump without discerning our position. I shall lie low, let the advanced party go past without a shot, and wait until the main body gets over the side within close range, and then open magazine fire into the thick of them. Yes, it will be just when they reach that broken anthill about 400 meters away that I shall give the word “Fire!”

However, it was not to be. After a short time the enemy halted, apparently for consideration. The advanced men seemed to have a consultation, and then gradually approached Incidentamba farm with much caution. Two or three women ran out and waved, whereupon these men galloped up to the farm at once. What passed, of course, we could not tell, but evidently the women gave information as to our arrival and position, because the effect was electrical. The advanced Boers split up into two main parties, one riding towards the river a long way to the east, and another going similarly to the west. One man galloped back with the information obtained to the main body, which became all bustle, and started off with their waggons behind Incidentamba, when they were lost to sight. Of course, they were all well out of range, and as we were quite ready, the only thing to do was to wait till they came out in the open within range, and then to shoot them down.

The minutes seemed to crawl — five, then ten minutes passed with no further sign of the enemy. Suddenly, “Beg pardon, sir; I think I see something on top of that kop-je on the fur side yonder.” One of the men drew my attention to a few specks which looked like waggons moving about on the flattish shoulder of Incidentamba. Whilst I was focusing my glasses there was a “boom” from the hill, followed by a sharp report and a puff of smoke up in the air quite close by, then the sound as of heavy rain pattering down some 200 feet in front of the trench, each drop raising its own little cloud of dust. This, of course, called forth the time-honoured remarks of “What ho, she bumps!” and “Now we shan’t be long,” which proved only too true. I was aghast — I had quite forgotten the possibility of guns being used against me, though, had I remembered their existence, I do not know, with my then knowledge, what difference it would have made to my defensive measures. As there was some little uneasiness among my men, I, quite cheerful in the security of our nice trench with the thick bulletproof parapet, at once shouted out, “It’s all right, men; keep under cover, and they can’t touch us.” A moment later there was a second boom, the shell whistled over our heads, and the hillside some way behind the trench was spattered with bullets.

By this time we were crouching as close as possible to the parapet, which, though it had seemed only quite a short time before so complete, now suddenly felt most woefully inadequate, with those beastly shells dropping their bullets down from the sky. Another boom. This time the shell burst well, and the whole ground in front of the trench was covered with bullets, one man being hit. At this moment rifle fire began on Waschout Hill, but no bullets came our way. Almost immediately another shot followed which showered bullets all over us; a few more men were hit, whose groans were unpleasant to listen to. Tools were seized, and men began frantically to try and dig themselves deeper into the hard earth, as our trench seemed to give no more protection from the dropping bullets than a saucer would from a storm of rain — but it was too late. We could not sink into the earth fast enough. The Boers had got the range of the trench to a nicety, and the shells burst over, us now with a horrible methodic precision. Several men were hit, and there was no reason why the enemy should cease to rain shrapnel over us until we were all killed. As we were absolutely powerless to do anything, I put up the white flag, All I could do was to thank Providence that the enemy had no quick-firing field guns or, though “we had not been long,” we should have been blotted out before we could have hoisted it.

As soon as the gunfire ceased, I was greatly surprised to find that no party of Boers came down from their artillery position on Incidentamba to take our surrender, but within three minutes some fifty Boers galloped up from the river bank on the east and the west, and a few more came up from the south round Waschout Hill. The guard on Waschout Hill, which had done a certain amount of damage to the enemy, had two men wounded by rifle fire. Not a single shell had come near them, though they were close to the Kaffir huts, which were plain enough.

What an anti-climax the reality had been from the pleasurable anticipations of the early morn, when I had first sighted the Boers. Of course, the women on the farm had betrayed us, but it was difficult to make out why the Boers had at first halted and begun to be suspicious before they had seen the women at the farm. What could they have discovered? I failed entirely to solve this mystery.

During the day’s trek the following lessons slowly evolved themselves, and were stored in my mind in addition to those already learnt:

8. When collecting the friendly stranger and his sons in order to prevent their taking information to the enemy of your existence and whereabouts, if you are wishful for a “surprise packet,” do not forget also to gather his wife and his daughter, his manservant and his maidservant (who also have tongues), and his ox and his ass (which may possibly serve the enemy). Of course, if they are very numerous or very far off, this is impossible; only do not then hope to surprise the enemy.
9. Do not forget that, if guns are going to be used against you, a shallow trench with a low parapet some way from it is worse than useless, even though the parapet be bulletproof ten times over. The trench gives the gunners an object to lay on, and gives no protection from shrapnel. Against well-aimed long range artillery fire it would be better to scatter the defenders in the open hidden in grass and bushes, or behind stones or ant hills, than to keep them huddled in such a trench. With your men scattered around, you can safely let the enemy fill your trench to the brim with shrapnel bullets.
10. Though to stop a shrapnel bullet much less actual thickness of earth is necessary than to stop a rifle bullet, yet this earth must be in the right place. For protection you must be able to get right close under the cover. As narrow a trench as possible, with the sides and inside of the parapet as steep as they will stand, will give you the best chance. To hollow out the bottom of the trench sides to give extra room be even better, because the open top of the trench can be kept the less wide. The more like a mere slit the open top of the trench is, the fewer shrapnel bullets will get in.

While chewing over these lessons learnt from bitter experience, I had yet another dream.

BF enters his third dream about The Defence of Duffer’s Drift with seven lessons learned:

I was at Duffer’s Drift on a similar sunny afternoon and under precisely similar conditions, except that I now had seven lessons running through my mind.

I at once sent out two patrols, each of one NCO and three men, one to the north and one to the south. They were to visit all neighbouring farms and kraals and bring in all able-bodied Dutch men and boys and male Kaffirs — by persuasion if possible, but by force if necessary. This would prevent the news of our arrival being carried round to any adjacent commandos, and would also assist to solve the labour question. A small guard was mounted on the top of Waschout Hill as a look-out.

I decided that as the drift could not get up and run away, it was not necessary to take up my post or position quite close to it. especially as such a position would be under close rifle fire from the river bank, to which the approaches were quite concealed, and which gave excellent cover. The very worst place for such a position seemed to be anywhere within the horseshoe bend of the river, as this would allow an enemy practically to surround it. My choice therefore fell on a spot to which the ground gently rose from the river bank, some 700 to 800 meters south of the drift. Here I arranged to dig a trench roughly facing the front (north), which thus would have about 800 meters clear ground on its front. We started to make a trench about 50 meters long for my 50 men, according to the usual rule.

Some little time after beginning, the patrols came in, having collected three Dutchmen and two boys, and about thirteen Kaffirs. The former, the leader of whom seemed a man of education and some importance, were at first inclined to protest when they were given tools to dig trenches for themselves, showed bundles of “passes,” and talked very big about complaining to the general, and even as to a question in the “’House” about our brutality. This momentarily staggered me, as I could not help wondering what might happen to poor BF if the member for Upper Tooting should raise the point; but Westminster was far away, and I hardened my heart. Finally they had the humour to see the force of the argument, that it was, after all, necessary for their own health, should the post be attacked, as they would otherwise be out in the open veld.

The Kaffirs served as a welcome relief to my men as they got tired. They also dug a separate hole for themselves on one side of and behind our trench, in a small ravine.

By evening we had quite a decent trench dug — the parapet was two feet six inches thick at the top, and was quite bulletproof, as I tested it. Our trench was not all in one straight line, but in two portions, broken back at a slight angle, so as to get a more divergent fire (rather cunning of me), though each half was of course as straight as I could get it.

It was astonishing what difficulty I had to get the men to dig in a nice straight line. I was particular as to this point, because I once heard a certain captain severely “told off” at manoeuvres by a very senior officer for having his trenches “out of dressing.” No one could tell whether some “brass hat” might not come round and inspect us next day, so it was as well to be prepared for anything.

At dusk the guard on Waschout Hill, for whom a trench had also been dug, was relieved and increased to six men, and after teas and giving out the orders for the next day, we all “turned in” in our trenches. The tents were not pitched, as we were not going to occupy them, and it was no good merely showing up our position. A guard was mounted over our prisoners, or rather “guests,” and furnished one sentry to watch over them.

Before failing asleep I ran over my seven lessons, and it seemed to me I had left nothing undone which could possibly help towards success. We were entrenched, had a good bulletproof defence, all our rations and ammunition close at hand in the trenches, and water-bottles filled. It was with a contented feeling of having done everything right and of being quite “the little white-haired boy,” that gradually dozed off.

BF’s second dream about The Defence of Duffer’s Drift ends slightly better than the first — but only slightly:

Just before dawn much the same happened as already described in my first dream, except that the ball was started by a shot without challenge from one of our sentries at something moving among the bush, which resulted in close-range fire opening up to us from all sides. This time we were not rushed, but a perfect hail of bullets whistled in from every direction — from in front of each trench, and over and through our parapet. It was sufficient to put a hand or head up to have a dozen bullets through and all round it, and the strange part was, we saw no one. As the detachment wag plaintively remarked, we could have seen lots of Boers, “if it wasn’t for the bushes in between.”

After vainly trying until bright daylight to see the enemy in order to do some damage in return, so many men were hit, and the position seemed so utterly hopeless, that I had to hoist the white flag. We had by then 24 men killed and six wounded. As soon as the white flag went up the Boers ceased firing at once, and stood up; every bush and ant-hill up to 100 meters range seemed to have hid a Boer behind it. This close range explained the marvellous accuracy of their shooting, and the great proportion of our killed (who were nearly all shot through the head) to our wounded.

As we were collecting ourselves preparatory to marching off there were one or two things which struck me; one was that the Dutchman who had presented me with eggs and butter was in earnest confabulation with the Boer commandant, who was calling him “Oom” most affectionately. I also noticed that all male Kaffirs from the neighbouring kraal had been fetched and impressed to assist in getting the Boer guns and waggons across the drift and to load up our captured gear, and generally do odd and dirty jobs. These same Kaffirs did their work with as if they enjoyed it; there was no “backchat” when an order was given usually by friend “Oom.”

Again, as I trudged with blistered feet that livelong day, did I think over my failure. It seemed so strange, I had done all I knew, and yet, here we were, ignominiously captured, 24 of us killed, and the Boers over the drift. “Ah, BF, my boy,” I thought, “there must be a few more lessons to be learnt besides those you already know.” In order to find out what these were, I pondered deeply over the details of the fight.

The Boers must have known of our position, but how had they managed to get close up all round within snapshooting range without being discovered? What a tremendous advantage they had gained in shooting from among the bushes on the bank, where they could not be seen, over us who had to show up over a parapet every time we looked for an enemy, and show up, moreover, just in the very place where every Boer expected us to. There seemed to be some fault in the position. How the bullets seemed sometimes to come through the parapet, and how those that passed over one side hit the men defending the other side in the back. How, on the whole, that “natural obstacle,” the river-bed, seemed to be more of a disadvantage than a protection.

Eventually the following lessons framed themselves in my head — some of them quite new, some of them supplementing those four I had already learnt:

5. With modern rifles, to guard a drift or locality does not necessitate sitting on top of it (as if it could be picked up and carried away), unless the locality is suitable to hold for other and defensive reasons. It may even be much better to take up your defensive position some way from the spot, and so away from concealed ground, which enables the enemy to crawl up to very close range, concealed and unperceived, and to fire from cover which hides them even when shooting. It would be better, if possible, to have the enemy in the open, or to have what is called a clear “field of fire.” A non-bullet-proof parapet or visible serves merely to attract bullets instead of keeping them out — the proof of thickness can be easily and practically tested. When fired at by an enemy at close range from nearly all round, a low parapet and shallow trench are not of much use, as what bullets do not hit the defenders on one side hit those on another.
6. It is not enough to keep strange men of the enemy’s breed away from your actual defences, letting them go free to warn their friends of your existence and whereabouts — even though they should not be under temptation to impart any knowledge they may have obtained. “Another way,” as the cookery book says, more economical in lives, would be as follows: Gather and warmly greet a sufficiency of strangers. Stuff well with chestnuts as to the large force about to join you in a few hours; garnish with corroborative detail, and season according to taste with whiskey or tobacco. This will very likely be sufficient for the nearest commando. Probable cost — some heavy and glib lying, but no lives will be expended.
7. It is not business to allow lazy men (even though they be brothers and neutrals) to sit teeth outside their kraals whilst tired soldiers are breaking their hearts trying to do heavy labour in short time. It is more the duty of a soldier to teach the lazy neutral the dignity of labour, and by keeping him under guard to prevent his going away to talk about it.

By the time the above lessons had been well burnt into my brain, beyond all chance of forgetfulness, a strange thing happened. I had a fresh dream.