Hero of the Empire: The Boer War, a Daring Escape, and the Making of Winston Churchill by Candice Millard
Authors: Candice Millard
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ceased, and the men lowered their weapons. As Botha walked out of the shanty and stood in the moonlight before the men who, moments earlier, had been about to slaughter him, he was hailed as a friend and fellow warrior.
Perhaps because of his long experience in battle, Botha did not like the idea of killing other men.When tensions with the British had begun to rise, he had hoped that war could be averted.He had even been among the handful of men in the Volksraad who had voted against sending the ultimatum to England. Finally, however, he had come to the conclusion that if his people wanted peace, they must first have war. “The Transvaal has done all it can in order to preserve peace,” Botha had said in a somber speech to the Volksraad, “but I think that we have now gone far enough.”
On October 12, the day after the deadline for the ultimatum, the Boers burst southeastward out of Pretoria like the breaking of a dam, rushing toward Natal, the British colony on the Indian Ocean coast that had once been theirs.It was raining in heavy sheets, and a fierce, freezing wind was blowing off the mountains, but the men, most of whom had neither tents nor overcoats, took little notice. “As far as the eye could see the plain was alive with horsemen, guns and cattle, all steadily going forward to the frontier,” Deneys Reitz would recall years later, when he was no longer a boy. “The scene was a stirring one, and I shall never forget riding to war with that great host.”
The next day, the Boers crossed into Natal, and, with a suddenness that would leave the British military reeling, the war began. Although he had hoped for peace, Botha was among the first wave of horses and men surging out of the capital. Breaking away with a small group to capture the first British prisoners of the war, six frontier policemen who were so shocked and unprepared they were able to put up no resistance, he rejoined his commando, a Boer combat unit, just beyond the Buffalo River.By the time they merged with another commando, they were eight thousand men strong, all sweeping eastward with an irresistible force toward the little coal-mining town of Dundee, where the commanding British general, Sir William Penn Symons, had set up his camp at the base of Talana Hill.
In Natal, Penn Symons and his counterpart, General George White, were equally unconcerned about the tens of thousands of burghers surrounding them from nearly every direction, and had decided to divide their already woefully inadequate force. Of their roughly twelve thousand men, some eight thousand had gone northwestward to the British garrison town of Ladysmith with White and the other four thousand farther north with Penn Symons to Dundee. Both towns were beyond the curving Tugela River, which Buller had repeatedly warned them not to cross until he arrived.
By the time he reached Ladysmith, White, taking in the stark terrain and the tension that seethed in every town he passed, had quickly realized that he had made a serious mistake. “Goodbye dearold lady,” he had written miserably to his wife. “We should have 20,000 more troops in South Africa than we have.” Penn Symons, however, continued to insist that there was no cause for concern and confidently marched his small brigade even farther north than Ladysmith, to Dundee, where he planned to set up camp.
In Dundee, Penn Symons ran his brigade much as he had in India. He hosted guest nights in the regimental mess so that his officers might bring their wives, encouraged his men to wear their scarlet and green dress uniforms, and cheerfully discussed plans for Christmas dinner in Pretoria. Even as his scouts warned him that the Boers had begun to descend upon Dundee, Penn Symons scoffed that no Boer commando would dare to attack a British brigade, no matter its size. “I feel perfectly safe,” he coolly told the agitated officers under his command. “I am dead against retreating.”
At 5:00 on the morning of October 20,
Perhaps because of his long experience in battle, Botha did not like the idea of killing other men.When tensions with the British had begun to rise, he had hoped that war could be averted.He had even been among the handful of men in the Volksraad who had voted against sending the ultimatum to England. Finally, however, he had come to the conclusion that if his people wanted peace, they must first have war. “The Transvaal has done all it can in order to preserve peace,” Botha had said in a somber speech to the Volksraad, “but I think that we have now gone far enough.”
On October 12, the day after the deadline for the ultimatum, the Boers burst southeastward out of Pretoria like the breaking of a dam, rushing toward Natal, the British colony on the Indian Ocean coast that had once been theirs.It was raining in heavy sheets, and a fierce, freezing wind was blowing off the mountains, but the men, most of whom had neither tents nor overcoats, took little notice. “As far as the eye could see the plain was alive with horsemen, guns and cattle, all steadily going forward to the frontier,” Deneys Reitz would recall years later, when he was no longer a boy. “The scene was a stirring one, and I shall never forget riding to war with that great host.”
The next day, the Boers crossed into Natal, and, with a suddenness that would leave the British military reeling, the war began. Although he had hoped for peace, Botha was among the first wave of horses and men surging out of the capital. Breaking away with a small group to capture the first British prisoners of the war, six frontier policemen who were so shocked and unprepared they were able to put up no resistance, he rejoined his commando, a Boer combat unit, just beyond the Buffalo River.By the time they merged with another commando, they were eight thousand men strong, all sweeping eastward with an irresistible force toward the little coal-mining town of Dundee, where the commanding British general, Sir William Penn Symons, had set up his camp at the base of Talana Hill.
In Natal, Penn Symons and his counterpart, General George White, were equally unconcerned about the tens of thousands of burghers surrounding them from nearly every direction, and had decided to divide their already woefully inadequate force. Of their roughly twelve thousand men, some eight thousand had gone northwestward to the British garrison town of Ladysmith with White and the other four thousand farther north with Penn Symons to Dundee. Both towns were beyond the curving Tugela River, which Buller had repeatedly warned them not to cross until he arrived.
By the time he reached Ladysmith, White, taking in the stark terrain and the tension that seethed in every town he passed, had quickly realized that he had made a serious mistake. “Goodbye dearold lady,” he had written miserably to his wife. “We should have 20,000 more troops in South Africa than we have.” Penn Symons, however, continued to insist that there was no cause for concern and confidently marched his small brigade even farther north than Ladysmith, to Dundee, where he planned to set up camp.
In Dundee, Penn Symons ran his brigade much as he had in India. He hosted guest nights in the regimental mess so that his officers might bring their wives, encouraged his men to wear their scarlet and green dress uniforms, and cheerfully discussed plans for Christmas dinner in Pretoria. Even as his scouts warned him that the Boers had begun to descend upon Dundee, Penn Symons scoffed that no Boer commando would dare to attack a British brigade, no matter its size. “I feel perfectly safe,” he coolly told the agitated officers under his command. “I am dead against retreating.”
At 5:00 on the morning of October 20,
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