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CHAPTER XIII
SOME SOUTH AFRICAN REMINISCENCES

I never enjoyed better health than I did during the twelve months when the hard veldt was my bed and the deep, dark, starry night was the roof over my head. No one can wish for a more healthy climate than that of the Orange River Colony during the dry season. I was only twice hit; once near Karree Siding when a pom-pom shell burst just under my horse and took off the heel of one of my boots; the second time a sniper’s bullet went through my coat sleeve without touching me. But I was unfortunate otherwise. One night I was riding along the veldt on a horse which had been presented to me when I left Adelaide by a friend of mine, one of the best horsemen in South Australia, Stephen Ralli, which we had christened Bismarck. We suddenly came to the edge of a dry donga with, of course, rotten sides. Down we had to go, and down we went. For a moment I had no idea whether we were being flung into a river or into a dry channel. It happened to be a dry channel, some sixteen feet deep and about the same width. We hit the bottom hard. I was sent rolling off, Bismarck fell on his head and broke his neck, turning over on his side. I picked myself up and could find no bones broken, and I called out to some of my men who had seen us disappear and had halted on the edge. They were glad to hear me call out. The question was then, how to get out of the donga. The banks were steep. So, unhooking the horses out of one of the Cape carts, they joined up the traces and I was safely hauled up. I did not for some time afterwards really feel any ill results from my fall. In fact I had forgotten all about it. But, later on, I found that I suffered a good deal when riding and that I had received an internal injury which afterwards caused me considerable trouble.

I shall never forget the constant and uniform kindness which I met at the hands of Lord Kitchener. Many and very different opinions of Lord Kitchener’s capabilities as a soldier and of his temperament as a man have been expressed. I formed my own opinion in both capacities from actual and continuous contact with him in his work. He was a silent man. Talk was of no value to him when it wasn’t to the point. He possessed a peculiar but very useful gift of getting at the kernel of a subject, seizing its meaning and promptly making up his mind what action he was going to take. If he wanted any further information on any point he asked you for it. If he didn’t want it, he did not thank you for volunteering to give it. He was a master of detail. He was forceful in his opinions – too forceful for those who disagreed with him. He may not have been too generous in giving open praise, but he never forgot those who had done him good service. As to whether he was a great general I have no opinion to offer, but he could always be depended upon to carry out whatever he took in hand.

During his trip to Tasmania, years later on, at the time of his inspection of the Forces of the Australian Colonies, a Light Horse Camp was being held at a place called Mona Vale belonging to Major Eustace Cameron who commanded the Light Horse. The homestead was a fine modern house. Mrs. Cameron had arranged for a large party of young people during the period of the camp. Lord Kitchener was the guest of Cameron for the day and night of his inspection. After dinner that evening a small dance was held. Songs with choruses were sung between the dances, and perhaps nobody enjoyed himself so much as Lord Kitchener. Later on in the evening, or rather in the early hours of the morning, he told us several good stories and much hearty laughter filled the smoking-room. Lord Kitchener was no woman-hater.

War has not always a grave side. Interesting events, and sometimes even amusing ones, intervene. Some of them now come to my mind. In the early part of the war Capetown had become overrun with men in officers’ uniforms and many ladies, most of whom were by way of being attached to voluntary and other hospitals. Most of these ladies were amateur, not qualified nurses. Mount Nelson Hotel was their chief resort. While a very large building it was unable to house the majority of them. They were scattered about throughout the city in other hotels and boarding-houses. Yet Mount Nelson was the place where all met.

Each night the resources of the Mount Nelson were strained. Dinner parties, music and dancing were the order of the day. Tables had to be engaged for days previously. A night arrived when the festivities were at their height. Dinner had begun. The large dining-room was full to overflowing, with the exception of one small table set for two in the middle of the room. The entreés were being served and the band had just finished a spirited selection.

The babble of tongues was all over the room when in walked two gentlemen in uniform, preceded by the manager of the hotel, making their way to the empty table set for two. The babble of tongues began to subside. The first officer following the manager was a tall man with rather a severe look in his eyes. It happened to be Lord Kitchener, followed by his personal private secretary. For a moment there came a dead silence, immediately relieved by the strains of the band beginning an operatic overture and the dinner proceeded. At the end of dinner all officers in uniform were notified to interview a staff officer previous to leaving the hotel. Within two days the number of officers frequenting the Mount Nelson Hotel was reduced to a minimum. A couple of days afterwards the manager informed me that he had been instructed the night of the fateful dinner to give notice to all officers in uniform then staying at the hotel who could not produce a permit to vacate their rooms. Steps were also taken to inquire into the positions held by many of the amateur lady nurses, and those whose services were deemed to be superfluous were provided with return passages to Europe. Thus ended this episode.

An amusing incident occurred at a place called Derdepoort, some ten miles outside Pretoria, where one of our columns, under General Hutton, was holding a section of the defences of the capital. I had dispatched their supplies of winter clothing to them, and it was decided to issue them on a Sunday afternoon. Amongst the thousands of cases that my depôts were handling were many containing presents of tobacco, pipes, books, and so on, to the men of the contingents. When the unpacking of those that had arrived at Derdepoort had taken place on the Sunday afternoon it was discovered that several very large ones contained women’s and children’s garments of all kinds and descriptions. The Tommies were not slow in appreciating the situation. The sounds of hearty laughter were soon ringing throughout the camp. I heard it in my tent, where I was taking a quiet afternoon nap. I went out to see what was happening. It was indeed a quaint sight. An amateur fancy dress ball was being held, and anything more comical it is difficult to imagine. The explanation of the arrival of the costumes was soon made clear. An association of ladies had been formed in New Zealand with the object of supplying clothing for the Boer women and children in the refugee camps that had been established by us for them in South Africa. The cases containing the clothing had been forwarded to Derdepoort by mistake.

During Lord Roberts’s stay in Pretoria it was discovered that a plot was set on foot to kidnap the Commander-in-Chief. It was, however, nipped in the bud. One of the leaders was an officer of the Transvaal State Permanent Artillery. The plot, of course, failed and the officer was brought to trial and duly shot. Tommy enjoyed his bit of fun over the attempt to kidnap Lord Roberts. At that time Lady Roberts and her daughters were at Pretoria, and the Tommies thought that it wouldn’t be so bad if they kidnapped Lady Roberts, but they had the strongest objection to losing Bobs.

Previous to the Battle of Diamond Hill a short armistice was arranged for. The commanding officer of the Boers opposed to us at the time was General Louis Botha. The military situation then was a difficult one. Had it not been that just then General De Wet, in the north-eastern part of the Orange River Colony, had become suddenly and successfully aggressive, it was probable that General Botha would have come to terms. However, as the result of De Wet’s action he decided to carry on. The interesting point in the incident was the fact that General Botha’s wife was selected as our emissary. Probably it was the first time, and the last, that the wife of an enemy’s general acted in such a capacity.

On our arrival in Pretoria the whole of the conditions appertaining to the civil life of the town had to be reorganized. Previous to its occupation by us Kruger had ordered that all Boer families who had members serving in their forces and who occupied leased houses could do so free of rent, while men in business with relatives fighting could occupy their leased premises at half the usual rents. This disability on the part of the property owners to obtain their rents was at once removed by Lord Roberts. In order to give effect to this decision it was necessary to appoint officials. Practically what was really required was a sort of glorified bum-bailiff, with the necessary assistance, the bum-bailiff holding a position similar to that of a magistrate. I was asked to suggest the name of a senior officer of the Australians who would be suitable. I did so. But the point arose by what name was the appointment to be designated? I don’t remember who was the happy originator of the name, but it shortly appeared in General Orders that Colonel Ricardo, of the Queensland Forces, had been appointed “High Commissioner of Ejectments” at Pretoria. Surely a name worthy of Gilbert and Sullivan.

I was lunching one day at the Pretoria Club when Bennet Burleigh, the well-known war correspondent, told me that he had just lost the services of his dispatch rider and asked me to recommend him a good daring rider and first-class bushman to take his place. All through life I have found that trifles often have serious consequences. I just happened, on my way to the club, to have seen crossing the square Morant, otherwise Corporal Buller, of the South Australian Contingent. I had not seen him for some considerable time. I bethought myself at once that Morant would be just the man to fit the billet. If I had not happened to see him I should certainly not have thought of him and Morant’s career might have been a very different one. I told Burleigh that Morant was a gentleman, a good rider and bushman, and I didn’t think he personally feared anything. Burleigh thanked me and offered to take him at once. Next morning Morant became his dispatch rider.

Occasionally, after this, during the advance to Koomatipoort, Morant would turn up and pay me a visit. He usually arrived with a bundle of any old newspapers he could get, which he very gravely and without a smile handed over to me, hoping that they would be very welcome. But there was a look in his eye that I knew well. “Have a whisky and soda, Morant?” I’d say. “Well, sir, I don’t think it would be so bad. I would like one very much.” He would then settle himself down comfortably, light his pipe and start to tell me all sorts of bits of news that had come his way. I often had but a few minutes to give him and had to leave him in possession, telling him to look after himself and be happy. Which he did.

He was well pleased with his job, looked a typical war correspondent himself, and was making good money. I heard no more until, some months later, I received a note from him from England telling me that he had been taking a short holiday and was returning to South Africa. He was joining a friend of his, Major Hunt, and they proposed to raise an irregular corps on their arrival. The corps was raised, the “Bushveldt Carabiniers.” This corps had nothing whatever to do with Australia. Nor could Morant himself lay any claim to being Australian. The corps was raised from Colonials and British, chiefly out of a job, then in South Africa. They appear to have had somewhat of a free hand in the operations which marked the latter portion of the campaign. Drives were taking place. Units were scattered, and to a certain extent had to be left to their own devices. The Bushveldt Carabiniers occupied for some time a wild region called The Splonken. While dealing with the Boers in that locality Major Hunt had, so it was officially reported, been murdered by the Boers, having been induced to approach a farm house on which a white flag was flying. The story goes that he was found lying dead on the stoep of the farm and that his body had been mutilated. Morant swore to avenge his friend’s untimely end – it was reported that he had become engaged to Hunt’s sister during his visit to England. He determined to give no quarter, and several prisoners who fell into his hands were promptly shot there and then. He and four other officers were, later on, in January, 1902, court-martialled on the charge of having personally committed or been accessory to the murder of twelve Boers. The five were found guilty, in different degrees. Handcock, Wilton and Morant were sentenced to death, and Morant was shot at Pretoria.

I am in a position to give a short account of Morant’s last hours. When crossing over in the ss. Surrey from South Australia a man called John Morrow, who had been my groom for a couple of years in Adelaide, had become a close friend of Morant’s. It was difficult to say why. Practically the only thing they had in common was their love for horseflesh. Morrow was quite an uneducated man. Morant was the opposite. Still, friends they were. When the Police Force for the protection of Pretoria was raised the majority of the men selected came from the Australians, and Morrow was one of them. Later on he had been appointed one of the warders at the jail. As bad fortune would have it, he was given charge of Morant and was with him the evening before he was shot. I had a long letter from Morrow, later on, enclosing a photograph of the officers concerned, which had been taken, evidently, about the time that the corps was raised. On the back of it was written in pencil: “Dear Jack. To-morrow morning I die. My love to my pals in Australia. – Morant.” It was probable that these were the last words that Morant wrote. Morant died as he had lived. He faced his end bravely.

Part III

CHAPTER I
ORGANIZING THE COMMONWEALTH OF AUSTRALIA

On my arrival at Adelaide I at last resumed my duties as Commandant after three and a half years’ absence. The Government of South Australia did me the honour to promote me to the rank of brigadier-general, and the Governor informed me that I had received the Companionship of the Order of the Bath for my services in South Africa.

The Act to constitute the Commonwealth of Australia received the Royal assent on June 10, 1900. The provisions that had been considered in framing it had received lengthy and most careful consideration on the part of the colonies concerned. There had been no hurry and no unnecessary speeding up. The history of each of the colonies tells us that they had always worked on constitutional lines, and that they had not been slow in adopting measures which had proved of benefit and a credit to those who first put them on the statute books. No point that might create serious discussion, or mar the initial success of the Commonwealth had been overlooked. The ablest brains of all the colonies had worked in unison, a great achievement in these days of selfishness and personal greed.

Everything was in readiness. The elections for the Commonwealth Parliament took place, and the first Government was formed. Sir William Lyne was then Premier of the Mother State. He was charged with the formation of the first Ministry, but was not successful in his task. The responsibility then fell upon the shoulders of Sir Edmund Barton, who gathered round him what was at the time called “the Ministry of all the Talents.” The Premier of practically every State was included. Then came March 1, 1901, when the actual constitutional functions of the Commonwealth started. For some time previously, in fact even before the Act had received Royal assent, the question who was to hold the all-important appointment of Governor-General had been exercising the public mind. In Australia itself there seemed to be only one opinion. The Earl of Hopetoun was easily favourite.

It may be safely said that no Governor of any of the Australian colonies up to that time had so successfully represented the Throne. Those who were in Melbourne on his arrival when he became Governor of Victoria well remember a man of somewhat light build, middle height, pale, clean-shaven, youthful in appearance. A few minutes’ conversation with him satisfied one of his affable ways and genial disposition. There was nothing hard in his features, but the lines about the lower part of his face would set firmly and resolutely when required, while his eyes, when looking at you straight in the face, left no doubt of his strength of character. A man of parts, a keen sportsman and a reliable personal friend. From the very first day of his arrival both his charming countess and himself won the hearts of the people. One may almost say that it was love at first sight, if this phrase can be applied to popular feeling. The outward signs of the approval spontaneously given to the appointment ripened during his term of office into personal affection, which was returned by both the holders of the high office, and became deeper with each year of their stay in Melbourne. The sister colonies were not slow in appreciating the good opinion formed of him by the Victorians. Whenever he visited the neighbouring Governors he received splendid welcome. When his term of office expired and he returned home he carried with him the good wishes of all. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that his appointment as the first Governor-General was looked upon as a most desirable one.

The Government had decided that the Governor-General’s first landing in Australia should be at the capital of the Mother Colony, New South Wales, and it had been arranged that the then flagship of the naval squadron in Australia, the Orlando, should meet the mail steamer on which Their Excellencies were travelling, at Adelaide, and convey them to Sydney Harbour. I remember well the morning the steamer arrived at Adelaide. We had heard by cable from Western Australia that His Excellency was anything but well, but we were not prepared to see him looking so ill. It was with difficulty that he was transferred to the Orlando, and we wondered whether he would recover sufficiently to take his part in the arduous functions ahead of him. However, though always somewhat on the delicate side, he was full of grit and determination, and, when the time came, he was able to fulfil all his obligations, much to the delight of everybody.

Sydney had surpassed itself in the arrangements to celebrate the unique occasion. I don’t remember ever seeing decorations so profuse or in such good taste. The whole of the principal streets were a mass of colour. Venetian masts lined the pavements at short intervals. Endless festoons of evergreens and flowers crossed overhead. Balconies and windows were swathed in bunting and flags; thousands of electric lamps lit up the decorations and made the city a blaze of light. What shall I say for the Harbour? Looking towards this from the roof garden of a club in Macquarie Street it was a sight to be remembered but difficult to describe. The surface of the water, smooth as oil, dark as the overhanging sky, reflected every one of the myriad lights on the ships resting on its surface, and the houses lining the foreshores. Endless ferry-boats, like things of fire alive, rushed hither and thither. And when the great display of fireworks began, and hundreds of rockets rose from ship and shore, there seemed to be no harbour water, for the reflections of the roaring rockets were seen apparently to dive into the earth.

The day of the “Proclamation” came. A bright and sunny morning, followed by a real hot day. The route of the procession was over four miles long. Immense crowds lined the streets, and all available space in the great Centennial Park was covered with people. What a day to remember! The Commonwealth of Australia became an actual fact. All the aspirations and all the desires of the colonies to be one and united were consummated on that day. What a future lies before it! Before its twentieth birthday it has made history of which any young nation may well be proud.

The next and most important function, namely, the opening of the first Commonwealth Parliament by H.R.H. the Duke of York, accompanied by the Duchess (their present Majesties), took place in Melbourne. Their Royal Highnesses, as may be remembered, travelled to Australia in the Ophir. Melbourne was not to be outdone in enthusiasm or loyalty. She vied hard with Sydney to make herself worthy of the occasion, and well she did it. But, somehow, she seemed to lack variety in effect. This I put down – I may be wrong – to the fact that Melbourne is a newer city than picturesque old Sydney, and that, of course, Melbourne does not possess Sydney’s harbour. The whole of the royal functions in Melbourne, as well as those that took place in the individual States, during the visits of their Royal Highnesses, were carried out with complete success.

The Duke took the keenest interest in everything, and insisted on getting information on manifold points of detail. I may refer to a case in point. At that time the South African War was still on, but numbers of soldiers had returned to Australia, amongst them many who had been granted commissions while serving in South Africa. Some of the men were members of the Permanent Forces before the war. As these forces were limited in number, there were no vacancies to employ them as officers on their return, so it had been decided by the Government that if they chose they could rejoin, reverting to the rank of non-commissioned officers they had held previously, and be granted the honorary rank of their grade on relinquishing their appointment. The men concerned were by no means satisfied, and the matter came before the notice of His Royal Highness.

Just before the Ophir left Adelaide on the return journey to Western Australia I was sent for on board. His Royal Highness asked me to explain to him the position of these men. He strongly objected to the action that had been taken, with the obvious result that the question was adjusted by the Government quite satisfactorily. The chief officials of the Commonwealth had been appointed, namely, the Governor-General, the Prime Minister and the members of the Government. The Members of both Houses of Parliament had been elected, had taken the oath of allegiance, and were in session. The three chief departments, which were automatically to be taken over by the Government from the States were: first, the Defence Forces; secondly, the Customs Department; thirdly, the postal services. As regarded the customs and the post office, these services had been, in each State, under the able administration of competent civil servants. The task set for the Government was simply the selection of chiefs from amongst the officials of the existing State departments considered best fitted for the position.

The selection of an officer for the position of Commander-in-Chief of the Commonwealth forces was quite a different matter. While the general organization of the forces of the individual colonies had been run on somewhat similar lines, there were many anomalies to be eradicated and many difficult problems to be solved. The seniority and other claims of the whole of the officers employed on the permanent staffs of the different States had first to be taken into consideration in the military reorganization. This task alone necessitated much care and thought in view of the many fairly well paid positions that would be at the disposal of the Commander-in-Chief. Then the inauguration and organization of the central administrative offices and State commands. Further, and all-important, the preparation of the estimates for the yearly expenditure at the disposal of the Commander-in-Chief, for on this naturally depended the establishment to be maintained. Last and not least, a man possessing the thorough confidence of the Government, an officer of high repute, with much tact, was required. At times when I had been riding across the veldt in South Africa with General Hutton we had spoken of the coming Federation of the Australian colonies. He was always watching the news from Australia. When it was evident that the Act of Parliament initiating the Commonwealth would receive the Royal assent I became quite satisfied that Hutton had settled in his own mind to be the first Commander-in-Chief. As far as I remember Hutton first came to the front in the operations in Egypt, when he made a special study of mounted infantry. He was a firm believer in the usefulness of this – then – new branch of the service. Later on, when he was appointed Commandant in New South Wales, he found at hand the very material to train as mounted riflemen. Australians, as we all know, are excellent horsemen and first-class shots. The nature of the country, with the probable forms of attack to which it might be subjected, lends itself to their use as mounted riflemen rather than as cavalry. While Commandant in New South Wales he devoted much of his energy towards the training of the mounted troops in this direction. An able soldier, firm in purpose – somewhat too firm sometimes – he did not spare himself in the interests of his men. Fortunately for him he was the happy possessor of considerable private means, which, needless to say, helps towards independence. But what about tact? During his term as Commandant in Sydney he had several differences with those in power. That he did not always succeed in getting his own way goes without saying. But at any rate when he left New South Wales the forces of that State were certainly more efficient than when he took over the command. His experiences afterwards in Canada were undoubtedly of value to him, though it would appear that an unfortunate disagreement between himself and the Ministers there led to his resignation of that appointment. Owing to these two former appointments, and to his having had the command of the Overseas Brigade in South Africa, it was evident that his claims to be the first Commander-in-Chief in Australia would receive consideration. The first Minister of Defence appointed by the Prime Minister, Sir Edmund Barton, was the Hon. Mr. Dickson, a Queenslander, who unfortunately died within ten days of his appointment.

Sir John Forrest, who was afterwards raised to the peerage, and who since died while on his way home to take his seat in the House of Lords, took Mr. Dickson’s place as Minister of Defence. I remember quite well dining with him one night in Melbourne when he asked me what would I think if Hutton were appointed Commander-in-Chief. I told him that it wasn’t so much what I thought, rather that, as he knew him personally pretty well himself, what did he think? He answered that he thought it would be all right. “Well,” I said, “you know best. It’s you, as Minister, that’ll have to battle with him.”

“I won’t quarrel with him. It takes two to make a quarrel.”

“All right,” I said. “I presume, from what you’ve told me, that the appointment is practically made. Time alone will tell.” General Hutton was appointed, and within nine months the relations between him and Sir John became, to say the least of it, more than strained.

Next in order of importance as regarded appointments was, to my mind, that of private secretary to the Governor-General. If there is an office that requires consummate tact, knowledge and even-minded temperament, commend me to that of private secretary to a Governor-General. In his case Lord Hopetoun was fully satisfied to avail himself of the services of Captain Wallington, with whom he was already intimately acquainted. Captain Wallington had served in the capacity of private secretary to several Governors. I wonder, if he happens to read these lines, whether he will agree with me that perhaps during his long term of office he enjoyed the quiet days he spent in Adelaide with Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, who was then Governor, as much as any of his time in other colonies. Captain Wallington, now Sir Edward, must forgive me if I remind him of the soubriquet by which his personal friends knew him – “Better not.” All his friends rejoice in the fact that he is now filling a very high position of trust and enjoying the best of health.

I have been following, if you have noticed, the sequence of appointments which it devolved upon the Government to make in initiating the Commonwealth. I will continue this plan as regards the senior positions under the Commander-in-Chief. At the time of General Hutton’s arrival the commands in the several States were held by the following officers:

New South Wales: Major-General French (late) Royal Artillery.

Victoria: Sir Charles Holled Smith’s term of office as Commandant had expired shortly before the inauguration of Federation, and the post was held by my old friend General Downes, who, on his retirement finally from the South Australian Command, had settled in Melbourne, and had been requested by the Victorian Government to take on the duties of Commandant temporarily.

Queensland: Major-General Finn, seconded from the 21st Hussars.

South Australia: I was still Commandant.

Western Australia: Colonel Francis.

Tasmania: Colonel Legge, (late) Royal Artillery.

Pending the expiration of the terms of service of Generals French and Finn in New South Wales and Queensland the first important vacancy to be filled was that of Commandant of Victoria, held temporarily by General Downes. This was offered to me and I accepted it. When the appointment was announced Kingston was the first to send for me to congratulate me. I felt, indeed, short of words to thank him for what he had done for me. I owed so much of my success to him. He was kind enough to say “that he could honestly assure me that if my work had not been satisfactory I would not have had his support and that of his colleagues and Parliament; that he was sorry I was leaving South Australia, and he would prophesy still higher promotion for me in the future.”