Читать книгу: «The Chronicles of a Gay Gordon», страница 15

CHAPTER IX
MILITARY ADVISER TO THE AUSTRALIAN COLONIES IN LONDON

On my arrival in London I found that my wife was not well. As a matter of fact, she was anything but well. I at once removed her and the children to Richmond Hill and set to work at my new duties. I was not prepared for the consternation which my arrival in London caused amongst the Agents-General of the Colonies which I was to represent. Kingston had evidently thought it advisable not to cable, with the result that the official notification arrived by post practically at the same time as myself. Not having any idea that their Governments in Australia intended to send anyone home to fill the appointment, the Agents-General had accepted the services of another Royal Artillery officer on the Active List to carry on pending a definite appointment being made, in accordance with the conditions which had held when Colonel Harman was appointed. This officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Baker, was as much surprised as anybody when I arrived to take up the duties which he naturally thought would devolve upon himself. My position therefore was not a very pleasant one, but I saw no reason why, with tact and care, the unpleasantness should not be removed. I was right in my forecast, and, before two months had passed, my official relations with all concerned became quite satisfactory.

There is no need, nor would it be of any special interest, to enter into details of the many and varied duties which appertained to the appointment. I had to buy anything, from a submarine or destroyer to brass instruments for bands, and from the largest of guns to carbines and bayonets and officers’ whistles. The question of advising the Government on making inquiries as to inventions was not part of my duties, but yet hardly a week or a fortnight passed that some persistent inventor did not find his way into my offices. The question of getting new inventions fully considered and tested by the War Office was always a difficult one to those who did not know the ropes, and there seemed to be a general idea amongst these clever gentlemen that, if they could get some of the Colonies to accept what they had to offer, it would be an easy road to the War Office. During my time in London, however, I must say that while several clever and very ingenious devices were brought to me, none proved good enough to enable me to recommend their adoption.

It had been decreed by the War Office that manœuvres on a much larger scale than had as yet been held in England should take place during the summer, and I looked forward with a great deal of interest to being present thereat. There appeared to be three principal objects in carrying them out, to give senior officers an opportunity of handling large bodies of men actually in the field; secondly, to test the departmental services; and thirdly, to test the possibilities and reliability of a system of hired transport.

The invited visiting officers were quartered at the Counties Hotel, Salisbury. Its situation was fairly convenient and it was quite a comfortable hotel. There were to be two armies, the Northern and the Southern, the two together numbering somewhere between 80,000 and 100,000 men and commanded respectively by the Duke of Connaught and General Sir Redvers Buller. The period of manœuvres lasted some eight days. Salisbury Plain and the surrounding country was the headquarters of the Northern Army, while the Southern Army was camped beyond the Downs to the south-west.

From the very start of the concentration of the troops the weather promised to be of a very trying character. The sun shone with almost tropical force. The large bodies of troops, moving through the narrow roadways and lanes, hemmed in by the high hedges, churned up clouds of dust. Moving in the rear of the troops thousands of wagons of the hired transport made matters worse. I doubt if ever a more extraordinary collection of vehicles and beasts of burden was ever got together anywhere in the world. Big furniture vans, drawn by four or three wretched-looking horses, would be seen just in front of two-wheeled carts drawn by a couple of powerful Clydesdales. The majority of the drivers, being civilians, did much as they pleased. Once a section of the transport was committed to a long piece of road or narrow lane without cross-roads it simply had to go on; it couldn’t turn round; it trusted to Providence to reach its destination. I think it was the third or fourth day that the task set to the armies was the occupation of a long ridge of the Downs, some eight or ten miles south-west from Salisbury.

Operations were to begin at six in the morning and cease at two p.m., and the visiting officers were attached that day to the Northern Army. The starting points of the two armies were at about equal distances from the objective. The point at issue was – who was to occupy the long ridge position first? It was frightfully hot; I have never known it hotter in England. I was glad of my Australian hat and light khaki uniform as I rode along the ranks of the sweltering infantry; the Scotch in their small glengarrys, the artillery with their old-fashioned forage caps, all were smothered in dust.

As the Northern Army advanced commanding officers anxiously sought for news of the enemy. About half-past twelve the visiting officers decided to ask permission to push forward to the head of the advance guard and see what was happening, for the hour to stop the battle was getting close at hand and no enemy was in sight. We pushed forward right to the slopes of the rising downs. Still no signs of the enemy beyond a few small cavalry patrols, which promptly retired before those of the Northern Army. We were taken up to the crown of the ridges.

On arrival there we could plainly see large bodies of the enemy, evidently resting, and camping in some beautifully wooded, shady country about three or four miles away. Apparently something had gone wrong somewhere. While the Northern Army marched some nine or ten miles in that awful heat, their enemies had probably not done more than three or four miles. But the Northern Army had won the day. It had also been arranged that – no matter which side did win the battle that day, on the next morning the Northern Army was to retire again, fighting a rear-guard action. Lord Wolseley was by no means pleased with the day’s work. It was reported that after listening at the usual pow-wow to what the officer commanding the Southern Army, Buller, had to say about the movements of his troops during the day, he expressed his opinions in fairly forcible terms.

Operations were to commence again at six o’clock the next morning. A few captive balloons were being used for observation purposes by both sides. It was presumed that the Southern Army would take the opportunity, after the comparative rest of the day before, of showing their mettle, and a fairly ding-dong fight was expected. So we were early in the field, back to the old ridge on the Downs, where the battle had ceased the day before. We were not disappointed.

I personally spent some unprofitable hours up in the air. One of the captive balloons, in charge of an engineer officer, was just being prepared ready to ascend when the officer, whom I knew well, invited me to go up with him. I handed my horse to the orderly and jumped into the basket, and we were soon up some hundreds of feet in the air. It was an interesting sight to see the southern force making its way to the attack through the valleys between the ridges. It was not pleasing to notice a half-squadron of cavalry suddenly emerge from under cover of a farm near by and charge straight for the wagon of our captive balloon. I wondered what was going to happen. Could the wagon get away out of reach in time? It didn’t seem possible. My host had no intention of being captured; he cut off the balloon from the wagon, which was duly taken. The day turned out as hot as the day before. There was hardly a breath of air and our balloon hung poised over the enemy’s troops now passing under it. If we came down we would, of course, fall into their hands as prisoners. My host was determined not to be caught and refused to come down. A couple of batteries of the enemy’s artillery quite enjoyed themselves firing at us. I suggested to him that, if it was real business, we were in a very awkward position, but he didn’t mind. He thought his balloon was good enough for anything except to go down, and he didn’t intend to do that until the fighting for the day was over, two o’clock in the afternoon. And up in the air we stayed. As I had neither pipe nor tobacco and we had nothing to eat or drink with us, I was not sorry when we set foot on Mother Earth again. I think it was that night, if not the next, a Saturday night, that we received a message from the headquarters of the Duke telling us of the defeat of the Khalifa at Omdurman by the forces in Egypt under Kitchener. It was welcome news.

Everyone knows the plight our War Office was in re the supply of small arms ammunition at the beginning of the South African War. Early in 1899 I received two orders, large in their way, totalling some five million rounds, for the .303 magazine rifle, from Sydney and Melbourne. The rifle ammunition Mark V was then in use, and very good ammunition it was too. The introduction of Mark VI was under consideration, and there was a probability of its replacing Mark V at an early date. I had been watching with considerable interest the experiments that had been taking place with the Mark VI, and I was personally far from satisfied that it would be a success. I decided to supply the order with Mark V, notwithstanding my general instructions that all stores were to be of the latest up-to-date pattern introduced into the Service at home. As the first consignments of the Mark V were shipped, I notified the Victorian and New South Wales Governments of the steps I was taking. I did not hear anything further in the matter for some two or three months when, to my surprise, I received a cable from Victoria, asking me upon what grounds I was sending out Mark V ammunition and not Mark VI, which, they pointed out, they understood had been adopted at home. At the same time a member of one of the firms which were supplying the ammunition called and informed me that his firm had received an order direct from the Government of Victoria for two million rounds of Mark VI ammunition, requesting them to cease forwarding any more Mark V. I immediately cabled to Victoria that I was not satisfied with the Mark VI ammunition, that I expected it to be withdrawn at an early date, and that, if they chose to place orders direct with the contractors on their own, I would accept no responsibility of any kind in the matter. In the meantime, what was to be done with the still very large balance of Mark V ammunition which was ready for shipment? My friend, the member of the firm, was just as aware as I was that Mark VI ammunition which they had then begun to supply to the War Office was not by any means likely to prove satisfactory. He actually seemed rather pleased that the large balance of Mark V was now practically left on his hands and would be replaced by the Mark VI. As the inspection of the Mark VI would naturally take some considerable time before it could be passed and dispatched to Australia, there was no hurry, as far as I could see, to communicate further by cable with Victoria. I may mention that the Government of New South Wales had accepted the situation and were content to receive their regular supplies of Mark V, having accepted my suggestion.

Then my day came. The National Rifle Meeting was held in Scotland. I voyaged up to watch for myself. It was not long before serious complaints began to be made, not only as regards the actual results of the shooting on the targets, but, what was much more serious, the bursting of two or three barrels and the blowing out of several breech-blocks. I was quite satisfied and returned to London. Courts of Inquiry were ordered by the Government, but, what was more important, similar happenings occurred later at the Bisley Meeting. The Council immediately took up the matter with the Government. Result: Mark VI ammunition condemned. Then went a cable to Australia through the Press Association:

“Mark VI ammunition condemned by Government. – The information sent to the Colonies by the Inspector of Warlike Stores confidentially has proved correct.”

Next day I received the following from Melbourne: “Is the cable published here to-day with reference to Mark VI ammunition true? If so, please rescind as soon as possible the order for two million rounds placed with the contractors.” There was nothing more to be done but to try to induce the contractors to forgo their order for two million Mark VI and let us have the Mark V. I think it is to their credit to state that they at once met my wishes in this respect, and an awkward situation was saved. This happened only some two months before the declaration of war against South Africa. The War Office, having decided earlier in the year on the adoption of the Mark VI, had placed very large orders with the contractors, probably for some forty to fifty million rounds, and these orders had been, to a large extent, executed, while, naturally, the stocks of Mark V had been practically depleted. The result was that the War Office found itself in the critical position of entering upon a war with actually a shortage of rifle ammunition. It will be remembered that the Government of India came to the rescue.

I had now been in London over a year. The question of my return had not been raised. Kingston was still Premier, and my locum tenens, a Colonel Stuart, continued acting for me as Commandant in South Australia.

CHAPTER X
OFF TO THE SOUTH AFRICAN WAR

Towards the middle of September, 1899, rumours of war began to spread. Early in October war was declared. At that time a squadron of the New South Wales Lancers, which had been sent home by voluntary subscription, was undergoing a course of training in England under the command of Captain Cox. The officers and men volunteered, and they were the first Australian mounted troops to land in South Africa.

I was naturally very anxious to go out myself, so I cabled to the Governments of the several colonies for the necessary leave. They refused, for the very good reason that as war had been declared it was just the very time when they required the services of their military adviser in England. I could not quarrel with their decision. I thought once more of my old friend, Charles Cameron Kingston, cabled to him explaining the position, and suggested that I should resign my appointment as Inspector of Warlike Stores, return to my dormant appointment as Commandant of South Australia, and on my arrival in Adelaide obtain permission to proceed to South Africa as a special service officer, if this could be arranged without my having to give up the Commandantship. I felt fairly certain of securing a position on the staff of the Commander-in-Chief in connexion with the mounted contingents of the Australian colonies, which were being so freely offered by all of them to the Mother Country. Kingston once again met my wishes. I cabled my resignation to the Governments I was serving, and, being fortunate enough to secure first-rate accommodation for the wife and family, set sail for Australia a few days after war was declared, in the middle of October, in what was then the finest passenger boat to Australia, the German ship the ss. Bremen. And so began my seventh journey across the world.

Our passage in the Bremen was as usual a fair weather one, but it was fraught with much anxiety as regarded the progress of the war. The ports of call of our ship were Genoa, Port Said and Aden, Colombo, and then Western Australia. As we arrived at each of these ports the news from South Africa became graver and graver. Siege of Ladysmith, siege of Mafeking, siege of Kimberley. Rebellion in Cape Colony. Then Colenso and Spion Kop. We felt somewhat relieved on arrival at Freemantle, where the news met us that General Buller was to be superseded in the command by Lord Roberts. On reaching Adelaide I saw Kingston, my friendly Premier, and told him that it was my intention, if he approved, to take my family on to my wife’s relations in Melbourne, return at once to Adelaide, raise the first mounted contingent, and sail with it for South Africa. Once again Kingston fell in with my views. I took the family to Melbourne and returned to Adelaide.

The excitement throughout the Australian colonies at that time, the middle of December, 1899, was intense. Just previous to leaving England by the Bremen I had been informed by the War Office, and by the Australian Governments I then represented, that they had offered contingents for service in South Africa to the Home Government. I had called at the War Office and had been told that the offer had been accepted, but that it had been decided to accept infantry and not mounted units. I pointed out to those in authority at the time that they had quite failed to appreciate the temper of the offer of the Australian colonies. The men who wished to volunteer were not in the least anxious, in fact, they really had the strongest objection, to walk about South Africa; they and their horses were one, and even if they couldn’t shoot or be drilled in time to fulfil the conditions of a trained cavalryman, at any rate they could ride like hell and shoot straight.

The War Office people thought I was rather romancing. I tried to disabuse them of this idea and ventured a step farther. I said that I almost believed that the refusal of the War Office to accept mounted troops might be taken absolutely as an insult. I was told that they valued my opinions and wished they had heard them before their final decision had been cabled out, but it could not be altered. The War Office had its way. The first contingent, therefore, raised in the colonies were trained as infantrymen, dispatched to South Africa, and on arrival there were formed into one regiment, every member of which was a first-class rider but a bad walker. They were shifted about hither and thither, gained no particular laurels, and rested not until the day came when they were turned into a mounted regiment, shortly before the arrival at Cape Town of the first mounted units. No more infantry units were dispatched from the colonies. The War Office had repented.

One of the reasons given to me for their preference for infantry had been that it had been considered inadvisable to put upon the Australians the extra expenditure that would be incurred in equipping mounted corps. To say the least of it, a very childish one.

I found on reaching Adelaide that there were enough applications already handed in at the military staff office to organize five or six squadrons, instead of one. It became a question simply of selecting the best. Married men were at once barred. Our unit was one squadron, a hundred and twenty officers and men. The remark which had been made to me in the War Office, previous to my leaving London, with reference to putting the colonies to extra expenditure in sending mounted troops, came back to my mind. I called on my old friend, Mr. Barr Smith, and I suggested to him that it would be patriotic on his part if he permitted me to notify to the Government that he was willing to bear the expense of supplying some of the horses required for the contingent. “Most certainly,” he answered. “You can tell the Government that they can draw upon me for the amount required for the purchase of the whole of the horses.” This was a winning card in my hand. I called upon Kingston next morning and told him of the offer. I further told him that I had already heard whispers of probable opposition to my so soon relinquishing my position as Commandant after my long absence from Adelaide. “Don’t bother,” said Kingston. “You are now going to fight for us; leave it to me. I am announcing to the House this afternoon the Government’s decision to send this first mounted contingent. You have put in my hands a trump card – Mr. Barr Smith’s generous offer. It will be received with the greatest enthusiasm by the members. I shall tell them your part in it and then immediately announce that I have selected you to proceed at once to South Africa as a special service officer, representing South Australia.”

It all happened that afternoon just as he had told me. The House cheered and cheered as Mr. Barr Smith’s offer – following on the notification to members that it was the decision of the Government to send the mounted contingent – was announced. Then followed the singing of “God Save the Queen.” Before they had time to settle down Kingston told them I had been selected as a special service officer for duty in South Africa. More cheers. All was well. My long absence was forgotten. All were glad to see me back. All pleased that the opportunity was being given me to go on active service. I was presented with two splendid chargers, a bay and a blue roan, a sword, revolver, binoculars, and enough knitted mufflers, Crimean helmets, housewives and the like to last me a lifetime. The only thing to be done was to select the men, purchase the horses, and get ready to embark as soon as a transport could be secured. Those selected were first-class riders accustomed to the care of horses – most of them members of the Mounted Rifles, and men who could shoot straight. Within three or four weeks we should be on board the transport, and could polish up a little their drill and discipline during the voyage.

We arranged with the New South Wales and Western Australian Governments for the ss. Surrey to convey our three contingents to Cape Town. We totalled some three hundred and eighty officers and men and four hundred horses. One squadron from a New South Wales cavalry regiment, one South Australian Mounted Rifles squadron, and a similar one from Western Australia. The Surrey, with the full complement on board, left Fremantle, in Western Australia, in January, 1900. I can still shut my eyes and see the immense crowds that wished us “God speed,” and hear the continuous cheers of the people of Adelaide on the day when we marched through the principal streets of the city on our way to embarkation. It was one of those events that one does not forget. Once more I was on my way across the seas to the other side of the world. My eighth voyage.

Fine weather across the Indian Ocean. I was not in charge of the troops on board the ship. I was merely a passenger, as a special service officer. Lieut. – Colonel Parrott, a New South Wales engineer officer, was in command. I had particularly arranged for this, as I had heard of the difficulties that had arisen in connexion with the transport of the first infantry units, and had considered it more advisable to act as a sort of support to the officer commanding than to be actually in command myself. This plan turned out quite successful.

A finer lot of sports I shall probably never travel with again. Among them we had men of all classes – judges’ sons, doctors’ sons, squatters’ sons, bootmakers’ sons, butchers’ sons, all happy together, and all more than ready for their job. Amongst our South Australian lot was one Jack Morant. He was not an Australian born, but had come out from the old country a few years before, and had an uncle at a place called Renmark, up the River Murray, where the Chaffey brothers, the irrigation experts from California, had established a fruit colony and had induced several retired officers from the old country to settle. Amongst these was Lieut. – Colonel Morant, Jack’s uncle. The latter had been promoted to the rank of corporal, and had been christened by his comrades “Corporal Buller,” from the somewhat extraordinary likeness he bore to General Sir Redvers. I will tell you more about Jack Morant and his unfortunate end later on. Those of you who read the Sydney Bulletin in the days before the South African War may remember several typical Australian poems that appeared in that clever journal over the name of “The Breaker.” “The Breaker” was Jack Morant.